Regional Synod of Canada - Reformed Church in America

Pioneer Christian Monthly

Date - Oct/75

Contributor - Engelina Van Essen

Title - Cleanup Time

Topic - Women's Page

The piece that I'm making for the Exeter Fair is almost ready. This morning I finished the backside, and I was amazed at all. The loose threads that were dangling about - unfinished threads that made it look very untidy. What a mess, I thought and turned it over to the right side. It was very neat, and to me, pleasant to look at. Yes, I thought, there sure is a comparison between this wall hanging and us human beings. Pleasant on the outside, showing to the world around us, the best there is in us - but how do we look on the inside? How many loose threads would we see? How much unfinished business is there between us and the Lord? Unconfessed sins, loose threads; unfinished business with our neighhour (and I mean the neighbour that you (and I) have to love as much as your (my) selve(s) loose threads. This could be: unkind words, a grudge toward someone, a fight (and I'm not going to be the first one to say I'm sorry, she is just as guilty as I am), you name it. How many loose ends can you find? The best way to find out is on your knees, and ask the Lord to help you to clean up. If you are ready to listen to him, He will show you where you were right, and where you were wrong. With his strength you'll be able to "clean up".

"Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you." I Thess. 4 :18.

The turkeys in the supermarket reminded me that Thanksgiving is not too far off. It's good to have a day set aside to give thanks. Thanks for all the abundance that we have. That is not a hard thing to do. When we look at all the riches we possess, in food, in material things, in our style of living, then certainly we'll say with all our hearts, "Thank you Lord for all your goodness".

But all this affluence scares me sometimes, and I'm sure, many more with me. How much do we really need? We take so much for granted, without even thinking how rich we are. Think about all the conveniences we have in our homes. (You sure notice that when you come back from a camping trip.) Pondering about all these things my thoughts go back to that dark winter of '44. Somehow, we got hold of some wheat, and the baker baked a beautiful golden loaf of brown bread from it. There it was, on the table and we were all there. That in itself was something to be thankful for. How many families weren't there where a member of the family was ' missing? Executed, bombed, sent to a concentration camp, or working who knows where, somewhere in Germany. Yes, we were all there, and there was that beautiful loaf of brown bread. Each one of us received one slice, the rest was kept for another meal. We ate it just like that, without butter, for there wasn't any, and said that it tasted even better than cake!

Corrie ten Boom tells in her book "The Hiding Place", how she and her sister Betsie were sent to another barrack at Ravensbruck concentration camp. It was a tremendous big room with strawcovered platforms on which to sleep. The straw was reeking and the room was overcrowded with women. Besides that, it was swarming with lice. Corrie had been able to smuggle her bible in, and that morning they had read port of 1 Thess. 4. ". . . . Give thanks in all circumstances . . . ." How could one give thanks for such a life, such a place, above all, for lice? But there was a reason to give thanks for lice also. Because of the lice, the guards did not enter the barracks, thus there was not much supervision -and the bible could be read daily. After work, the women held there secret worship services.

"They were services like no others, these times in Barracks 28. A single meeting might include a recital of the Magnificat in Latin by a group of Roman Catholics, a whispered hymn by -some Lutherans, an 'd a sotto-voice chant (in a low tone) by Ea-stern Orthodox women. With each moment the crowd around us would swell, packing the nearby platforms, hanging over the edges until the high structures groaned and swayed.

At last, either Betsie or I would open the bible. Because only the Hollanders could understand the Dutch text we would translate aloud in German. And then we would hear the life-giving words passed back along the aisles in French, Polish, Russian, Czech, back into Dutch. They were little previews of heaven, these evenings beneath the lightbulb. I would think of Haarlem, each substantial church set behind its wrought iron fence and its barrier of doctrine. And I would know again that in darkness God's truth shines most clear."

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