Children’s Story

Children’s Story — On Freedom’s Soil

by

I wish I might have known my grandfather, Valentine Leer, but he died before I was born. I can see him, though—a short, stout German farm boy, plowing the gently rolling fields of his father’s land in Russia’s southern Ukraine.

It was good land, rich black soil. Valentine Leer stopped the horses and squatted on his heels to rub the dirt between his fingers. It was still moist from the winter rains. The best growing land in Russia, he smiled proudly to himself. And his father’s farm the best kept, the most productive.

Straightening up, he looked out across the upturned furrows behind him to his little village nestled in the poplars among the low hills. Kassel, just fifty miles north of Odessa on the Black Sea, had been home to his people ever since they left Germany maybe fifty years ago in the early eighteen hundreds. They had come in response to the Czar’s call for more thrifty, hard-working German farmers, with the modern methods of Western Europe, to settle these thousands of fertile acres.

Valentine loved the little village which his people had named after their hometown in Germany. He could see the Lutheran church where he helped with the younger boys, the school, and his white-washed mud cottage in the cherry orchard under the great endless blue of the sky. Someday he would have his own cottage, and he knew who would share it with him—at least, he hoped he knew!

Putting up the horses for the night, Valentine strode toward the welcoming lamp light, hungry for a bowl of his mother’s Borsch. Or maybe there would be Kase Knepf or Strudel tonight. Whatever it was, he knew there would be plenty.

But when he came in, the kitchen was empty. From the next room, he heard his father’s angry voice.

“But, officer, I have already paid my taxes down at Odessa.”

“I did not make the law. I just follow my orders. Fifty more rubles to the Czar this year. After all, there is a war going on.”

There had been a war going on as long as Valentine could remember.

“I cannot pay it now,” his father said.

“I do not have the money.”

“If you do not have it in by Monday night, you either go to jail, or we take five desiatine of your land.”

There was a scraping of chairs and boots and the front door closed.

Valentine saw his father sink heavily into a chair. His mother sat in the corner wiping her eyes. He waited for his father to speak.

“Ach, so. Another freedom gone.”

“But I do not understand, Father.”

“You are young, my son. Tonight you have seen two of the promises in Catherine the Great’s manifesto broken.

First, the taxes. She promised us freedom from taxation. But year by year they have become heavier until I can hardly pay them. And then this Russian officer! We Germans were to have our own government, with an administrative board appointed by the Czar. One of our own officers should be collecting the taxes. But now the only question is: Where do I get the money? If I do not get it, I will lose the land.”

For the first time, Valentine realized the heavy burden his father carried. He ate his supper silently, wishing there was some way he could help. Scarcely had they finished their meal when Conrad Schmidt, their neighbor to the east, came in. He looked so old and beaten that Valentine’s father exclaimed, “Conrad, what is wrong?”

“They have taken my land,” he almost whispered. “You know I did not have much. My wife has been sick and I had a poor harvest last year. There were other expenses and I could not pay the taxes. So they have taken the last.”

“If I were younger,” Conrad continued slowly, “Yes, if I were younger and my wife strong, you know what I would do? I would go to America!”

Valentine slipped out the back door. He had to think. What was happening to the German colony? How could the Russians take their land away from them? It was not right.

He looked up to see Herr Wall, their Lutheran school teacher, swinging briskly down the road, bulging satchel in hand. Herr Wall was always hurrying. “Where are you going?” Valentine called.

“To America,” he answered. Then he stopped and laughed. “Ach, lieber, Valentine, you look surprised! Yes, but it is true. The Russian officers brought me orders from the Czar to turn over our Lutheran school to the Ministry of Education. We were to be free to control our own school, but now it is to be taught and controlled by the Russians!”

“But, America, Herr Wall,” Valentine protested. “What do you know about America? It is so far away.”

“But it is free, my lad. No one will take my school away from me in America. Yes, I am going. I will write and tell you all about it.”

During the following years Valentine thought often about Herr Wall and America. As he became responsible for more of the duties and problems of the farm, and built the little cottage to which he brought his bride, Fredricka Hieb, he treasured the occasional letter which came from his teacher.

But there was much to keep him busy at home and in the community. As Valentine and his bride walked slowly home over the muddy road one spring evening, avoiding the deep ruts left by the farm wagons, they talked about the Baptist preacher who had recently come to their village.

“You know, Fredricka, I feel that this teaching is more like what I have studied in the Bible myself. I believe I must accept it and be baptized.” He saw her face whiten in the dusk. “But Valentine, you know it is forbidden to change your religion. You know how the Orthodox Church and the government are working together to clamp down on Protestants. I just know you will be put in jail!”

“When something is right to do,” he answered, “then the only thing is to go ahead and do it.”

In spite of Fredricka’s fears, he was baptized. That was when his life of active service really began: A word of comfort to a downhearted Russian peasant here, a pamphlet on the love of God to an educated Russian officer there, and guidance and help to the new little Baptist Church in the German community.

But Fredricka had been right. It was not long before these activities brought him persecution. During the next few years he began to feel that he knew the interior of the Velva jail, five miles away, almost as well as his own home. When he returned from jail, discouraged, he could always find comfort in his children, Karl and Carolina.

“Father!” called little Karl, running out through the lean-to one night, “there is a big, big man in the house!”

Valentine dropped the plow and hurried in. What could it be this time? Surely not more taxes.

Fredricka stood at the kitchen door, tears in her eyes. “It was an officer, Valentine,” she choked. “He is taking a census for . . . for military service. Sometime this year you will have to go!”

Valentine picked up baby Carolina and put his arm around his wife. “Come, Karl,” he said, “it is time to go in to worship.” He took the big German family Bible from the shelf and sat down.

“That breaks the last promise, does it not? Exemption from military service. But we must remember, Fredricka, that God has a purpose behind all this. Though we cannot see what it is yet, we can trust Him.”

Valentine remembered the confidence and peace of that worship period the next evening when the heavy door of the little jail in Velva slammed behind him.

“Ivanovitch!” He heard the towering, fur-capped office bellow. “Take this … this Baptist and lock him up. I do not know for how long. Forever, for all I care!”

“But officer,” fussed the balding little jailer, “you know this Valentine Leer makes nothing but trouble in here. He is always converting . . .” The nervous little jailer’s voice trailed off. The door was shut and the officer gone.

“All right, all right, Valentine Leer,” he sighed, “what is it this time?”

Valentine sank down wearily on the hard slat-covered bed and began to unlace his muddy boots.

“This time, Mr. Ivanovitch, your officers on horseback drove me five miles on foot through the mud to you here because I was reading from the Bible to my Russian neighbor. I was reading from the Book of John, you know, the part where our Savior says . . .”

“You mean you were out making converts for the Baptist Church again. Proselytizing. That is against the law!”

“Yes, you are right. It is against the laws of Russia, and I am sorry for that. I do not like to disobey laws, especially the laws of a country which has been so good to our people in the past. But if God’s laws tell me to preach, and man’s laws say not to, then I must obey God’s laws.”

The jailer slid down beside Valentine, his eyes on the curious faces of the other inmates as he scooted nearer.

“Tell me something, Leer,” he half whispered. “I do not know much about the laws of God, but I would like to know why it is so important for you to do this—to keep preaching this gospel you talk about, always ending up in jail here. Why are you so different from the rest of us anyway?”

“Valentine leaned against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment. He was very tired. Being marched five miles through deep mud had not been easy, especially after a hard day’s work in the fields. He wanted to be alone to rest and think. To think about the letter which had come that day from Herr Wall in America. He would really prefer to talk to the jailer later.

Then a picture of Paul and Silas in the Philippian jail came to his mind. They had been tired, too, and had been beaten besides, when they sang their triumphant hymns. He turned to the jailer.

“Mr. Ivanovitch, I am glad to tell you why I seem different. It is just a matter of faith. I see you have an icon over there. You have a fine one, my friend, the gold frame is beautiful and the picture of Jesus is lovely. Now when the priest has blessed this icon, you say it is sacred and you pray to it. You have faith in the icon, do you not?”

The jailer nodded.

“Now I have faith, too, but not in a picture made by a man like myself. I have faith in God and His Son, Jesus. I can pray directly to Him. I know that God hears me, that His Spirit is with me,always, wherever I am. I do not have to buy an expensive icon, and then a more expensive one, hoping that it will bring me blessings. I talk with the Creator who made the universe, and yet Who loves and cares for me. Is that not wonderful?”

“Look,” he said, “I will read it to you just as our Savior said it.”

He took his German Bible from an inner pocket and slowly translated several sweet promises into Russian. He could see that the other prisoners were straining to hear, and he wished he could read louder so that they would be sure to get the meaning.

“Come now,” he said finally, “I will teach you how to pray directly to your heavenly Father. We will kneel together.”

As he knelt, Valentine rejoiced to see four of the men climb from their bunks and slip to their knees on the floor. “Now I will teach you the prayer our Savior taught His disciples.” And Valentine slowly repeated the words of the Lord’s Prayer. Soon others were joining in with, “Our Father, which art in heaven . . .”

Suddenly they heard the tramp of boots outside and the grating of a big key in the lock. Before the jailer could get to his feet, the heavy door swung open revealing the overseer of the southern Ukrainian prisons.

The overseer cursed in anger.

“Ivanovitch, you swine, what is going on here? Oh, yes, now I see. It is that Valentine Leer here again. These Baptists,” he roared, “when you have one, you have two. If there are two, there will be four. And now look we have six, and one of them is my jailer.”

“All right,” he sighed, “let him go. And do not bring that little Leer into one of my jails again. He makes as many converts inside as he does outside!”

Well, I am free to go home again, Valentine thought, pushing along through the mud. Home to what? A few acres of land which could be taken from him at any time, Russian schools for his children where they would be indoctrinated with the Orthodox belief, military service which might take him from home for many years to fight in wars of conquest he could not conscientiously support, and most important, to a total lack of understanding of what religious freedom should be.

He realized that he had come to the place where he must either give up his spiritual work for others or be prepared for a future which could include not only the Velva jail, but also a Siberian prison.

He had almost memorized the words of Herr Wall’s letter—”There is freedom here in America, Valentine. You can worship or not, as you please. You can change your religion, preach any message you wish—no one hinders you in any way.”

Valentine turned to look at the fields of home. He would miss the rich acres and the mild climate as well as the Russian people. But when he would plow and plant and preach again, it would be on freedom’s soil.

Sequel: Valentine Leer did come to America. He was a Baptist at that time. In America he met an English speaking man who shared the Ten Commandments with him. That was all it took. The Holy Spirit gave him understanding as he studied for himself.

Valentine Leer raised up twenty-five Seventh-day Adventist churches in North and South Dakota. He also raised $70,000 for the College of Medical Evangelists to give young people the opportunity he did not have—to learn.

The American branch of the Leer family prospered and grew over the years. Many of them are missionaries, ministers and teachers carrying on the family tradition of active service for the Lord like their progenitor, Valentine Leer.

 

Children’s Story — The Little Latchkey

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It was March and midnight. The air was full of driving sleet, and the streets were vacant. Not even the form of a policeman broke the monotony of slippery pavement glittering under the waving shadows of electricity. Presently a boyish form emerged from a dark corner, and crept slowly up the steps of a corner house. It was a large, handsome residence, now utterly dark and quiet. What business had one to creep stealthily into this house at that hour? Was the boy a burglar?

He fumbled in his pocket, and drew forth a tiny key. Yes, it opened the door, and he stood within. The hall was dark, but warm. He moved eagerly to the register,—he seemed to know just where to find it,—and crouched shivering over its delightful warmth. After some moments he started up the stairs, oh, so carefully, lest there should be a sound. But the steps were padded and carpeted, and his old wet shoes sank into them noiselessly. At the head of the stairs he felt his way to the door. It was closed, and he hesitated, leaning against the frame, and breathing heavily. At last he laid his hand on the knob, then turned it a little. Was the door locked? No, it swung open quietly, and the boy stepped in.

The street light shone upon a dainty bed all made, and turned open ready for an occupant. A dressing gown hung on a chair near the bed, and a pair of slippers stood before it. The rest of the room was in darkness. The boy gave a great sob, and fell on his knees by the side of the bed.

No, he was not a burglar, only a sick boy stealing home under cover of midnight.

It was nearly two years since he knelt by that bed. His mother had died; he had thought his father stern and cold, so he had run away to live as he liked. Once in his miserable wanderings a much-forwarded letter from home had reached him. It contained no writing, just the tiny latchkey to the home door. For months the little key had burned as it lay in his pocket. It had reminded him that, though a prodigal, he still had a home. It had reminded him of the Savior whom his mother trusted, and in time of his deepest distress he had said, I will trust Him. Still he was afraid; but the little key had still lain in his pocket, and at last had drawn him home.

The next morning Mr. Kane opened his son’s door, as he always did since he had sent the latchkey. He expected nothing, but it had become a habit, so he opened the door. Did his eyes deceive him? No, it was true. Ralph was in the bed asleep. The face was thin and worn. The father fell on his knees, and the boy opened his eyes.

“O Father!” he sobbed, “I’ve come home to die. I’ve been wicked, wicked, wicked. Can you forgive me?”

“Indeed I can. And God—have you asked His forgiveness?”

“Yes, and I wanted to tell you before I die.”

“Die!” said the father, gathering him in his arms. “No, indeed.”

“The doctor at the hospital said I would not live long.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Mr. Kane, stepping to the phone.

When the family physician had looked Ralph over, he smiled. “The hospital doctor knew that you had little chance wandering about with no care,” he said, “but we’ll send you off to Florida; and if you lead a sensible, pure life, you’ll live to be the stay of your father’s old age.”

When the physician had gone, Ralph turned to his father. “I’m so glad you sent the latchkey. I never would have come home by daylight. But when I was out in the cold, wet night, I could not resist the comfort at the end of that key,” he said. “It was God who gave me the thought, my boy. I asked Him what to do.”

“How good God is!” replied Ralph. “And you have your whole life before you in which to show your love for Him,” replied the father.

 

Taken from The Youth’s Instructor, October 2, 1902.

 

Children’s Story — The Lost Bag

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Many years ago, when I was a little girl, the Lord taught me a very important lesson. I have not forgotten it because it made a very big impression on me. You might find the story very funny,but for me it was very serious at that time.

When I was young, my parents did not have much money. We always had enough to eat and clothes to wear, but there was not enough money to buy new clothes very often. Actually, it was very seldom when we would get any new clothes. We usually wore whatever we inherited from cousins or friends.

One day I was happy though. It was New Year’s eve, and that has always been a family evening at my home. We would have a special dinner and then we would worship together. After that we would give each other presents. That night I got a new pair of tights made of a special kind of wool, for winter time. I was so excited that I had gotten something new to wear, something that no one else had used first. It was special for me.

But before long a tragedy happened. That winter was terribly cold, with lots of snow. We lived on a farm in the country, and one day there was so much snow that we couldn’t drive away from our farm with the car. My mother, who worked in the laundry at the SDA college, had to go to work, so my father took her the six kilometers on the tractor.

Since Mommy worked in the laundry, we did not have a washing machine at home, she just always took our clothes with her to work and washed them there. That day our clothes were in the laundry and we needed to get them home. Daddy put them in a big bag and took them home on the tractor. When he reached the farm there was no bag on the tractor any longer. What had happened to it? It must have fallen off somewhere in the snow. Daddy went back to search for it,but he didn’t find anything. What a tragedy! It was especially sad for me because my new tights were missing. Oh, I could have cried. After all this time I had received something new, and now it was lost.

Later that day, after the road was ploughed, my brothers and sister and I started out for school on our bicycles. We had to ride on the same road that father had driven on with the tractor that morning. All the way to school I looked carefully beside the road for the bag, but I did not see it anywhere. One day, two days, three days passed by, but I still could not find the bag, and I decided that someone must have stolen it. A whole week passed by, and I was very sad. Finally, I knelt down and prayed to God. We had already been praying to God that He would help us find the bag, but this was different. I told God how much I wanted my tights back, but I always told Him that if it was not His will, then I would accept it. After that prayer I was much happier. I had accepted whatever would happen and had laid it in the Lord’s hands. The same day, on the way home from school, I had a big surprise. There beside the road, I saw the bag under some small bushes. I was overwhelmed with joy. Quickly, I went home and told Daddy to go and get the bag.

Why hadn’t I seen the bag earlier? For one week we had all been passing by the bag two times a day, but had not seen it. I believe the Lord wanted to teach me a very important lesson, one which I would never forget. When we pray, we should say, “Thy will be done.” Before the Lord answered my prayer, my will had to be surrendered to His will. May the Lord help you always to surrender your will to His.

 

Children’s Story — A Fjord a Ferry and a Lesson

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My name is Elen and I come from Norway. Do you know where Norway is? Norway is a country in northern Europe, in the part of Europe called Scandinavia. Norway looks very different than Kansas. We have hills and fjords.

A fjord is where the ocean water has cut a big lake into the land. It is similar to a bay, but normally it reaches farther into the land and has high banks around the sides. To cross a fjord you must either take a ferry that will bring you and your car over to the other side, or drive all the way around, and that could take several hours.

This story happened one day when my daughter and I went down to take one of those ferries. When we got near the ferry, I took out my purse to get the money to pay the toll. When I took the money out it fell and went down in a crack in the car. Now I did not have enough money left to pay for the ferry ride. I had to get the money out. My daughter and I got down on our knees searching for a way to retrieve the lost coins. We tried using a spoon and a knife and anything else we could find to pry it out, but nothing worked.

My daughter was a teenager at that time. I do not know what teenagers are like here in America, but teenagers in Norway are really shy. They get embarrassed very easily if their parents do something stupid. And my daughter was a teenager just like that.

I said to her, “Well, we if cannot get the money back, we better tell the ferryman what happened. Maybe the ferryman will feel sorry for us and let us go over for the money that we have.”

But she said, “Oh, no Mom, I will not have you to tell that story. It is so embarrassing, and he will not believe it anyway. He will think that you are lying because that story is so stupid.”

“I am not lying and I know that I am not lying,” I replied.

“But He will think you are lying.” She felt so embarrassed that she did not want me to tell the ferryman.

Then she suggested, “Why not tell him that someone stole your purse. He would believe that.”

But I said, “I could not lie.”

Do you know what I do every morning before I open my eyes? When I wake up I always pray that God will help me that day not to break any of His commandments. And if a temptation comes that He will remind me of my prayer, and help me not to break the law.

I told my daughter this, and I said, “I could not break one of His commandments now.”

But she said, “Oh, but I feel so uncomfortable. What if I go and hide in the back of

the car? He would not see me, and you would only have to pay for yourself and the car. Then you do not have to lie.

“That would be lying too,” I said. I would be pretending something that was not true.

What could we do now? My daughter did not want me to tell the truth, and I would not tell a lie, so there was only one thing to do. And that was go all the way around the fjord, even though it would take two hours. My daughter agreed that we must go all the way around. So I turned the car out of the line of all the cars that were there, and we drove back up the hill and started to drive around.

Then my daughter said, “I am so thirsty and tired and it is such a long drive all the way around the fjord. Let’s go back and you can tell that stupid story anyway. I will sit there in the car with my eyes closed and pretend I am not there.”

“Ok,” I said, “We will go back.” We turned the car around and went back again to the ferry. I pulled up to the ferryman and told him the whole story. He looked at me closely and said, “Isn’t there something wrong with your leg?”

“No,” I replied, “My leg is perfectly fine.”

“But no, your legs look bad,” he said. I only charge half price to the handicapped, and so you can pay half price.”

“But I am not handicapped,” I objected.

“Well anyway,” He said, “I am only going to charge you half price.”

So we went on the ferry for half price, and we even had enough money left over to buy my daughter something to drink. Isn’t the Lord good? When we got to the other side I said to my daughter. “Did you learn something today?”

She nodded her head and said, “Yes, I did.”

My young friend, you see if you are honest the Lord will always be with you. Sometimes it can be difficult when you are honest, you might even get into trouble, but remember, God will be there. He has promised that He will be there if you always do His will.

 

Children’s Story — Stuck on Shadow Mountain

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It was early spring of 1971. We had moved to the High Desert area of Southern California, and wanted to witness to our neighbors. An inspired statement says, There is more religion in a good loaf of bread than one would think.

Homemade bread! What a wonderful idea! Soon I took three beautiful loaves of bread from my oven. The Lord had blessed my efforts. In the early evening, I jumped in my Fiat (1967 1100-R model), the steaming hot bread beside me, and zipped over the desert to one neighbor, then another. The last neighbor lived on the other side of Shadow Mountain, but there was a short cut.

The short cut was fun. The sand was churned up and you could speed, turning the corners too fast, sliding in the sand—and yet not get stuck. I was soon there, delivered the bread and started home. By now it was dark, and there was no moon. My headlights stabbed the velvety darkness but I had difficulty following the short cut.

Suddenly I realized that I was driving uphill on hard ground with small brown pebbles. Oh, I should go back and find the short cut. Why? The car is moving along all right. Maybe this is a shorter short cut.

The pebbles became rocks and the incline was steeper. Maybe I should turn around. Lois, do not be a worry wart. You will make it! The rocks got bigger and I came to the top of wherever I was. The adrenaline started to flow and I was getting scared. Oh, why worry? I will just drive down the other side.

By now there were good-sized boulders. As I was dodging them, I saw an erosion ditch to my right. My fear was full blown and I thought of turning around. No, you have gone too far to turn around, and so, I went on. The erosion ditch was getting deeper and deeper.

Suddenly my headlights showed the erosion ditch right in front of me. It was a full sized gully with huge boulders on the other side of it. Well, this is the end of this trip. I had really better turn around now. Not much room. Oh, well, it is a small car. I will make it.

So I backed up with wheels cramped as far as they would go. Move forward with the wheels cramped the other way. About ten times I see-sawed. Finally my little Fiat was headed back up the mountain. Ahhh, put it in low gear, gently let the clutch out and I am home free!

Zzizzizzizzizztt. The tires were spinning on loose sand. Well, the sand cannot be very deep up here, I will just try again. Zzizzizzizzizztt. Oh, Heavenly Father, I have been so foolish. You have been trying to warn me for the past fifteen minutes and I would not listen. Please do not leave me here on Shadow Mountain. Please help me get home.

Now, I had prayed. Surely it would be all right. Put it back in gear, gently let the clutch out. Zzizzizzizzizztt! If I kept on spinning the wheels, I would dig myself in down to the axles. Admit it, Lois, you are stuck! I got out of the car to better assess my situation. A breeze was blowing. It would escalate into a stiff wind. I was wearing a sleeveless light dress and rubber thongs on my feet. No sweater. No flashlight. No moon, and the stars were pale. I was already getting cold.

I humbly confessed my foolishness to God. I freely confessed that I had ignored His counsel. How easy it would have been to turn around when I was first going wrong. I told God that I did not deserve any help from Him and I was willing to take my lumps. With tears streaming down my face, I asked for forgiveness and made things right with my Heavenly Father. Peace filled my heart.

In the distance, like a beautiful jewel on a black velvet cloth, I could see my home. Light was streaming from every window. It meant warmth and comfort, security from the elements and the companionship of my husband. How I longed to be there!

I had two options: Stay in the car all night and be miserably cold. Or I could walk home. It was only one mile, but in the dark I would have to crawl over the huge boulders and feel my way down. I had seen rattlesnakes in that area, and they come out at night. And walking across the desert in flimsy rubber thongs, the cholla cactus were sure to get my toes.

I decided to go home. The breeze whipped my dress and I shivered. Well, (sigh) guess I had better get going. But before I could take a step, I heard the still, small voice. Lois, try it one more time.

Yes, Lord, I will be glad to. I jumped into the car, offered a short prayer, started the engine, put it in gear and slowly let the clutch out. Zzizzit. The wheels started to spin and then stopped. At that moment I felt my guardian angel give the car a little push and ever so slowly it began to move forward. Praise God for His goodness! I carefully retraced my way and was soon home.

I learned three valuable lessons that night.

  1. There is a way that seemeth right—but it does not take you where you want to go.
  2. It is never too late to turn around when you are going the wrong way.
  3. God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in time of trouble.

 

Children’s Story — Left to Die

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The Somme River rises above St. Quentin, near the Belgian border, in northern France, and flows into the English Channel. In what was once a rich farming area near the river, the astounding scene took place.

Before the war, this man was an irreligious man. He had attended some evangelistic meetings once but did not become a Christian. After entering the war he was shipped to France. As he was crossing an open field, shrapnel struck him down. His fellow soldiers left him as they deemed him dead.

“I could hear the battle,” he related, “and the humming of bullets was all about me. I saw that I was bleeding and hoped that a corpsman would find me. But night came without one person coming near by the bit of a hollow where I fell.

“The next morning I was very weak from the loss of blood and from hunger. I had a little food in my knapsack but was unable to turn over or to unbuckle my straps to get it. I realized that I was lying in my own blood. I was helpless and giving myself up to die.

“Five days later, the medical corpsmen were out in the field searching for any one who could possibly still have life in him. I saw them come closer and closer. I tried to call to them, but they were too far away to hear my weak voice.

“Closer and closer they came. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, one of them stopped, cupped his hand to his ear, and heard my plea for help. After administering some first aid, he called to a companion to get a stretcher. When the two of them started to take me off, I asked them to look around and see if they could see what had saved my life. Puzzled and thinking I was delirious, they started on with their task.

“Wait,” I cried, “at least look at the evidence of what has happened.” After seeing those ten definite objects of proof that I had miraculously been preserved from starvation, we made our way to the mobile army surgical hospital.

“In the portable hospital tent, I had time to reflect back on the astounding way in which that God I had rejected in those evangelistic meetings had not rejected me. I gave my heart to Him and vowed to go back home, look up the people who held the meetings, and allow them to help me become a real bonafide Christian.

“My testimony of God’s stunning battlefield protection was confirmed by the two medics so that no one would miss out on the power of it all through doubt or disbelief.

“You see, when I could not turn over or unbuckle my strap with my one free arm so that I could eat the meager provisions of my K-rations, the Lord interceded.

“Lying there the morning after my being wounded, I first thought I was having a hallucination, because standing near the very tip of the five fingers of my one free hand was a real, live hen!

“What’s more, the hen laid an egg right then and there!”

“I broke the egg, cupping most of its contents in one half of the shell, and swallowed it. It was not much, but it was enough to keep me alive until the next day.

“What’s even more wonderful is the fact that this same hen that I saw walk slowly away after laying that first egg came back to almost the very same spot the next day to lay another egg.

“The hen came from a nearby shelled farm house, an orderly told me later. But it came five days in a row. And the corspmen saw the ten halves of the five eggs broken by my body.”

 

By W.A. Spicer from the book The Hand that Intervenes, 33–35.

 

Children’s Story — A Faith That Never Dies

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Having been raised in Colorado at the foot of the Rocky Mountains, I had the privilege of enjoying nature at its best. I remember well the Sabbath picnics, hikes and nature walks our family enjoyed. Jesus seemed so near to me when I was sitting by a cool, clear, laughing stream. Since I was introduced to music at an early age, I could hear an orchestra all around me in those majestic mountains—the whispering of the pines, the songs of birds and the occasional waterfall. God was real to me as I would sit by a crystal clear lake and look up into a beautiful blue sky with floating white clouds. I was born into a family with four older brothers, three of which had already moved away from home; and the fourth left in a short time. My mom and dad were special people, and I loved them very much. Dad spent his days working on cars. He was known by everyone for his honesty and kindness to others. Mother was always helping those in need. She would take a freshly baked loaf of bread to a shut-in, visit the sick, or buy groceries and do banking for an invalid. Both of them were diligent workers in God’s church and had a strong faith in His Word.

One night when I was five years old, I awoke with a terrible ache in my legs. After turning and tossing for quite some time, I called out to my mother for help. She came to my aid and rubbed my legs until I fell asleep. The next morning the pain returned, and my parents decided I needed to see the doctor. After many tests, it was determined that I had Rheumatic Fever.

One of my brothers had suffered with this disease two times during his youth, which resulted in a badly damaged heart and an early death after two open heart surgeries. The doctor decided that I was to have complete bed rest, without even a pillow for my head. Each morning, my father would carry me like a board to the sofa in the living room, and again at night to my bed. I was not allowed visits from my friends. If you are five years old, or can remember when you were, you can imagine what it would be like to lay flat on your back for hours, days, weeks, and, yes, even months! Mother would read me stories and sing to me. I looked at books and put puzzles together. To this day, I can close my eyes and tell you where each picture, mirror or clock hung on the walls of that room.

The greatest fear I had was the visit of the doctor when he came to draw blood, which was at least once a week and sometimes more often. As I began to improve, I was allowed to lie on the swing which hung from the roof of the porch. When I would see the doctor approaching, I would scream for mother to come to my rescue.

Mother loved flowers and the yard was filled with the fragrance of Lily of the Valley and Lilac trees which lined both sides of our property. Since we had no television I had to invent my own entertainment. On the side of the house, mother had some Hollyhocks and I would ask her to pick a few of the buds and a few of the flowers. I could put these together and imagine they were beautiful young ladies in flowing gowns—what fun that was!

The best part of the day was when my father would return home from his work, sit down and sing Norwegian songs to me and tell me stories of his childhood growing up amongst the Chippewa Indians on Lipsi Lake in Wisconsin. Sometimes they had nothing to eat and he would have to walk across the frozen lake at night in search of food while listening to the coyotes howl.

Many days, week and months went past until finally the last blood test revealed that all was well. My parents took their requests of healing to their best friend, Jesus, and then decided to take me to a Chiropractor and see what he could do for me. After working with me for some time, my legs were fully restored and I could run and play with the other children.

That was not the only time I saw my parents live out their faith in God. They endured many trials in their lifetime, but they loved the Lord with all their hearts and instilled in me the same desire to direct my every care to Him who loves us unconditionally.

“Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” Hebrews 11:1. I have had my faith tested many times, but I can say with assurance that God will never let us down. He will always be there for us and give us the strength we need to endure.

 

Children’s Story — On the Road Home

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Going home! Going home! Going home! We were bubbling over with joy at the prospect. It had been a long year in what seemed like a different world. We had hardly gotten used to the extreme cold, the snow that piled high on the telephone lines, the dangers of the tundra, and the habitat of the Eskimo and their Husky dogs.

Thousands had prayed for the war to end and now God had answered those prayers. How thankful we were that all of this horrible war would now stop and our lives could get back to normal.

Life here, could be rather monotonous, and we looked for things to do that would brighten the long dark days and make the best of the almost total daylight. What could be better then to get a car and make it ready for the long trip home. How could we do this, though, when the government had turned all of the steel into tanks and airplanes. Then, there it was, almost a perfect answer to our prayers. An officer from the base had turned over his almost new car out on the icy highway. It was for sale even though the side and top were all bashed in and the fabric inside was all hanging loose. The engine seemed all right and the frame was not damaged. The price tag said $700. We didn’t have very much money, but we decided that with a little fixing up it would be as good as new. There were long hours of hearing the “bang, bang, bang,” of the hammer and the groaning from the sore arms as they sanded out the endless dints and bumps. Then, it was painted and Viola, it looked good! Now, there was another problem. The spare tire had been used and because the war had taken all of the rubber, it would probably be impossible to find another tire. We needed it for the long miles of gravel and dirt road ahead. Our expression must have shown an obvious concern for surely there would not be a tire for purchase no matter at what price. Yes, it was impossible! Oh! but there could be a solution. We could pray, for hadn’t the Lord found us a car?

Days went by. Every available possibility was check out but no tire was found. Sabbath came and we took our usual walk across the Chenna River bridge to where there was a small Seventh-day Adventist Church. We could hardly believe our eyes when we saw a new little jeep trailer sitting in the yard across the street. It had a sale sign on it and it appeared to have two new tires. It was a temptation, but NO, we could not think of doing business on the Sabbath, even though our hearts sank at the thought that it could be sold before the Sabbath was over. We prayed that the Lord would keep it for us. We do not know how He accomplished it, but He did! That was the beginning of our long lonely trip down the Alkan Highway from Fairbanks, Alaska to Edmonton, Alberta, Canada.

Now it is apparent that the Lord hears our prayer and he answers them if we love and obey Him. It must be in His own time and in His own way. Sometimes it is just the way we wanted, and sometimes it is even better. Sometimes we have to patiently wait and sometimes we think we are disappointed, but then we can remember that He knows what is best for us. So, He answers not always according to our expectation, but always for our good. His final answer will be when he takes us on the road to His Heavenly Home because we love Him and keep His commandments.

 

Children’s Story — Mother’s Day Disaster

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It was a bright, sunny morning in mid May. Kelley jumped out of bed in excitement. Today was Mother’s Day, and she had big plans! Aha! She was very pleased to find, as she had hoped, that no one else in the family was up yet. “I must get to work right away, before they get up,” thought Kelley, entering the kitchen and reaching for her very own cookbook.

By now, you have probably guessed what Kelley was planning that morning. Her “big plan” was to make breakfast for her Mom. Now, she really did not know how to cook, but she was full of enthusiasm, and was sure she could handle it very well.

After looking through the cookbook for several minutes, Kelley paused at a recipe for banana cake. “That will be good,” she thought, “and I think it is easy enough for me.” Kelley was imagining how happy Mom would be to wake up and find breakfast all ready, when she realized she had one slight problem—there were no bananas in the house. Most people would consider that a big problem, but not Kelley. It was true that she did not have any bananas, but then again, there were plenty of strawberries to take their place. “Yes,” she decided, “strawberries will do just fine.” She began rounding up all the other ingredients she would need.

Things seemed to be going pretty well, or so Kelley thought, as she stirred together the first few ingredients in her so-called banana cake. However, she soon ran into a nasty difficulty. Kelley had not checked before she began, to see how much honey she had, and now, though she searched high and low, she could not find enough honey for her cake. After scanning the cupboards for quite a while, she mulled over her dilemma. Since she had already begun to mix some of the items together, she had to continue, but not having honey was a little disturbing. There was no use panicking, though—she would just have to use molasses instead. “This isn’t turning out quite like it was supposed to,” she mused, as she poured the runny black liquid into the bowl, “but it will have to do, and I am sure it will be good anyway.”

Trying to be creative, (and perhaps atone for her substitution) Kelley decided to put some almonds in, and so she dumped a sizable portion of whole almonds into the mixture, never thinking to chop them up! She was soon finished with the concoction, and put it in a pan and baked it.

When Mom came out of her bedroom, she was as surprised as Kelley thought she would be—but sounded a little uncertain as she looked at the dark “cake” and asked what it was. “Oh, it is banana cake,” Kelley explained, “except, we did not have any bananas, so I used strawberries instead.”

I am sure Kelley’s Mom had some doubts about eating it, but what could she do? “Thank you.” She tried to sound cheerful as she choked down the awful tasting “banana cake.” Yes, even Kelley noticed that something was wrong. It did not taste very good, and the whole almonds were hard to chew. “What went wrong?” Kelley wondered. She concluded that maybe strawberries and molasses did not work well together after all.

Kelley’s “big plan” for Mother’s Day turned out to be a flop. Worse yet, after her unpleasant breakfast was eaten, Kelley ran outside to play—leaving her Mom with a stomachache and a stack of dirty dishes to wash. Was that very thoughtful of her?

Kelley had learned several important lessons that day. Can you think of any? First of all, we should all be more thoughtful about how we help our parents. Our big plans and good intentions are not worth nearly as much as a cheerful heart while doing the little things that we know how to do.

There is an even deeper lesson hidden in this story. Just as Kelley decided that strawberries would work in place of bananas, and molasses in place of honey, so we sometimes think that we can substitute our own ways for God’s ways. The Bible gives us very specific instructions on how we should live, and yet so often, we find ourselves thinking, “Oh, this is just a small thing. It does not really matter to God.” But if God says in His Word that it matters, then it does matter. We must follow His directions. If we do not, we will not be real Christians any more than Kelley’s little experiment was a real banana cake! Let us all try to learn from God’s direction Book every day, and live by it.

 

Children’s Corner — A Favorite of Mr Sankey

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There Were Ninety and Nine

 

There were ninety and nine that safely lay

In the shelter of the fold,

But one was out on the hills away,

Far, far from the gates of gold—

Away on the mountain wild and bare,

Away from the tender Shepherd’s care.

“Lord, Thou has here Thy ninety and nine;

Are they not enough for Thee?”

But the Shepherd made answer:

“One of Mine has wandered away from Me,

And although the road be rough and steep,

I go to the desert to find My sheep.”

But none of the ransomed ever knew

How deep were the waters crossed,

Nor how dark was the night that the Lord passed through

Ere He found His sheep that was lost.

Far out in the desert He heard its cry—

Fainting and helpless and ready to die.

“Lord, whence are these blood-drops all the way

That mark out the mountain’s track?”

“They were shed for the one who had gone astray,

Ere the Shepherd could bring him back.”

“Lord, why are Thy hands so rent and torn?”

“They are pierced tonight by many a thorn.”

But all through the mountains, thunder-riven,

And up from the rocky steep,

There rose a cry to the gate of heaven,

“Rejoice, I have found My sheep!”

And the angels sang around the throne,

“Rejoice, for the Lord brings back His own!”

 

The whole world has sung the “Ninety and Nine,” and listened with pleasure and delight to the cheering words that tell of a Savior’s care for the one that “was out on the hills away.” It only remains to tell the simple, strange little story of the song itself. Songs seem nearer and dearer when we know something of their history.

Thirty years ago those famous evangelists, Moody and Sankey, were preaching and singing together in old England. One day they were going from Glasgow, Scotland, to Edinburgh, for a great meeting there, and Mr. Sankey as he stepped aboard the train, purchased a penny religious paper. As he settled down in the car to read, his eye caught the lines of a poem, away in an obscure corner of the paper,—

“There were ninety and nine that safely lay in the shelter of the fold.”

The great singer read on, till the entire poem had been perused, and then he exclaimed, with a note of triumph in his voice, “Mr. Moody, I have found the hymn I have been looking for for years!”

“What is it?” asked Moody, looking up from the letter he was reading.

His friend explained that it was about the lost sheep.

“Read it to me,” said Mr. Moody, his eyes still fixed on the letter.

So Mr. Sankey read it, putting much expression into his voice, trying hard to do justice to the beauty of the sentiment. But alas! When he looked up, Mr. Moody was absorbed in meditation over his letter, and had heard scarcely a word.

“All right,” said Mr. Sankey to himself, with a smile, “you won’t get off so easy, my friend; you’ll hear this song later.” He cut out the poem, and stored it away in his pocket scrapbook.

So on their second day in Edinburgh before a great audience Mr. Moody had spoken eloquently and touchingly on the Good Shepherd, when he said, “Mr. Sankey, have you a solo to sing on this subject?”

The great singer was at a loss for once. Three times that day the congregation had sung the twenty-third psalm. So that would not do, and he could think of no other. And then those verses he had read on the train came before him like a flash, with the thought, “Sing those, by all means.” “But,” he objected, “how can I sing without a tune?” The audience was waiting. Mr. Sankey took the little scrap from his note-book, struck a full chord on the organ, and then, note by note, never sung before, came the first stanza. The thoughts flooded upon the singer, Could he remember to sing the second in the same way? But concentrating his mind, the second stanza, the third, and on through the fifth he sang, while the delighted audience sat still as death, little dreaming that the wonderful melody had never been heard before, even by the singer himself.

“Mr. Sankey,” exclaimed Moody, coming down where he stood, “where did you get that song? It’s wonderful! I never heard anything like it!

“O, that,” said Mr. Sankey, to his friend’s evident confusion, “that is the hymn I read to you on the train the other day!”

Taken from The Youth’s Instructor, March 29, 1904.