Stories from Heaven's Library - Vol. 11
For Young and Old
Featuring:
A Specter in the Moonlight
Dortsja
The Black Book and the Cross
A SPECTER* IN THE MOONLIGHT
CRASH!
Daryl sat bolt upright, his eyes riveted on the window by his bed. It was in the same half-open position as it had been when he'd closed his eyes ... he glanced down at his watch, straining in the moonlight to make out the hands ... two o'clock. A gentle breeze danced playfully through the curtains, and all was quiet.
Daryl warily* resumed his comfortable nocturnal* position. He'd never been too sure about this house. In fact, there were a lot of things he wasn't sure about--himself, for one! It seemed that happiness and contentment in his life were like a little golden sunbeam--dancing in front of him from time to time, but always seeming to fade away when he needed it. Sometimes he wondered if this kind of life was too tough for him.
Well, he would often tell himself when he began feeling low, I can make it through another day . Now here he was, at the end of a very long day, and stuck in this miserable house.
Why haven't You led us to our "perfect house" yet, Lord? Daryl surprised himself with this inward prayer, and as the words formed in his mind, he realized that it had been a while since he'd beamed up a personal message to the Lord. He was ashamed at the tone of his return to devotion. He sighed. I guess I'm just not spiritual enough. I bet the Lord has better things to do than tap into my prayers--that's for sure! Still, something inside him seemed to yearn for an answer. What can I do? he groaned inwardly. Please help me!
Then he saw it. It was just a colored spot at first, caught out of the corner of his eye. He turned his gaze quickly back towards the window, and a long, thin, pale purple beam of light seemed to be projecting onto the floor through the glass. He gazed at it, transfixed, for more than 15 seconds, before he shook himself. This can't be true! he thought. He rubbed his eyes, and as he refocused, the light was gone.
Then he heard a voice thundering through his mind: "SIX WEEKS."
Daryl leaped out of bed. This was getting too weird. He stepped out into the dimly lit hallway and sat on one of the chairs by the telephone table.
Let me review my life, he thought, as he leaned forward to rest his head on his two hands. My name is Daryl and I'm 15 years old. I live with my parents and four sisters, and John and Star and their five kids, and two YAs. We had to leave our last house unexpectedly and don't have anywhere to stay, so we landed in this dump--sorry, this house--that our friend has let us stay in till we can find something better. I always sleep through the night, unless I am sick. Tonight, I woke up because I heard a crashing noise that sounded like it came from the window. Then I saw a purple light, and a voice says "six weeks." And that was no "still small voice." It didn't sound bad either, but it was definitely different.
Daryl sighed. Somehow just reviewing the events in his mind made him feel a bit better.
He tiptoed back into the room he shared with YA Robert. Everything looked normal--too normal for having just been very abnormal. He climbed wearily in bed, feeling the effects of his half-hour waking stint, and wanting very much to go back to sleep. As he was dozing off, he mumbled a short prayer to the One he knew was watching over him.
*
Thinking back on the events of the night before in the Thursday morning sunshine almost seemed surreal*. Perhaps I have been blessed with a great and vivid imagination, he wondered to himself. On the other hand, maybe it really did happen. I should write a story about this and send it to the Free Zine. Then a thought occurred to him. What had happened, anyway? How would this story end? Daryl had no answers. And as eager as he was when he went to bed the following nights, nothing further happened.--He never even woke up! He thought of setting his alarm clock to wake him up in the middle of the night, but he was afraid of waking up Robert too. And try as he might, his body clock just did not kick in at those wee hours.
The rest of the week passed uneventfully.
By the following Wednesday, Daryl had almost forgotten his strange experience. But he would remember soon enough. For that very night, his sleeping ears leaped at a familiar sound.
CRASH!
Daryl jumped up and looked at his watch. This time he was sure he had heard it. Two o'clock, on the button. Wednesday night. Why does this seem very familiar? he asked himself the obvious question. Almost against hope, Daryl propped himself up on his pillow and waited, with his gaze fixed at the window. If this was a repetition of events ... sure enough, his watch had barely struck 2:05 when the same purple beam began to gently float in through the window.
This is so weird, Daryl marveled. I can't believe this is happening to me!
But this time, there was more.
While the end of the beam remained on the floor, the side of the beam that was on the window sill moved upward, until it stood upright, like a glowing pole. Starting at the floor and moving upward, the light began to take form into what appeared to be a person. Daryl held his breath as two sandal-clad feet appeared, then ankles. Just above the ankles was the hem of a full skirt. Daryl breathlessly watched the formation continue. Alongside the skirt appeared two slender hands--female, definitely. The skirt peaked in a gathered waist line.
What is going on here? Daryl shook his head. No way this can be happening to me. He closed his eyes tightly, rubbed them, and opened them again, laughing softly ... and as he did, the apparition* was gone. Hmm, I didn't even get to see her bust size! he joked to himself. But then he sunk into melancholy seriousness. What have I done? I can't believe I blew it off again! I wonder perhaps next Wednesday ...
Daryl had forgotten about the voice of the week before, and this time he nearly jumped out of his skin as it boomed through his consciousness. "BELIEVE!--BEFORE IT IS TOO LATE, AND MY TIME IS GONE!"
It took him a moment to recover as he turned his glazed eyes towards the ceiling. Six weeks! He suddenly recalled the words from the week before. And that time was now passing.
*
The next day at rest time, Daryl determined that he would prepare himself for his next encounter. And in case the being--whoever that may have been--was still watching him, he wanted to show that he really was sorry for blowing her off twice in a row. I don't know why she has to be so sensitive about this believing stuff, he rationalized to himself. But apparently she must have her reasons, so I'm just gonna have to watch my step next time.
Daryl decided to bone up* on the subject. He knew deep down inside that this was a good spirit that was trying to get through to him, because the feeling she carried did not seem evil or weird in a negative way. What's so weird about a purple spirit forming in front of your eyes anyway, right? Daryl laughed to himself. After all, this is a day of voices and spirits, so maybe she's trying to get through to me about something. Maybe there's something I'm supposed to do to help her.
Digging through the trunk where all the Word books were kept, he pulled out the Cat Book. He mused over the index, then turned to page 475, section 715. There it was: Spirit World.
Wow, look at all these subheadings--Psychic Phenomena ... Spirits ... Time Travel ... UFOs ... that sounds like it's right up my alley! He jotted down a few titles and Letter numbers on a piece of paper to start off with, then gathered up a stack of volumes and headed for his bedroom.
Robert was lying on his bed on the opposite side of the room. He raised an eyebrow in surprise--obviously, the sight of Daryl with his hands stacked with MO Letter volumes was not your everyday occurrence. Daryl turned a little red to see his roommate's reaction. But Robert didn't rub it in.
"Good for you, man," he mumbled with a smile, as he continued reading some New Wine.
Daryl knew he didn't have to say anything else, but he cleared his throat uneasily. "Look, Rob, I know I'm not the most spiritual guy in the world, and sometimes I even wonder if I'm cut out for this kind of life. But I think God's giving me another chance, and I don't want to muff it. Anyway, I don't know what I'm saying but I just wanna say thanks for being a pal. You don't preach at me, but I can see that you love the Word and the Lord, and I admire that. I may not show it, but I do."
That was all Daryl could muster, and he dove onto his bed and buried his head in a book as if to say that the conversation was over. Robert didn't say anything, but not long afterwards, the point of a paper airplane jabbed into the back of Daryl's head. He picked it up and unfolded it, and read: "Go for it, pal! You're gonna make it!"
*
It was Wednesday night again, and Daryl was counting the minutes as he lay sprawled out in his bed. No way the night was gonna pass at this rate! Daryl figured he was about as ready as he could be to face his very own personal spook. He had been reading from the Letters about the spirit world, and for good measure had read a couple of Letters on faith too--since he figured that this must be his problem in brushing off this specter two weeks in a row. He was surprised at the changes that he felt. For a whole week he had been reading the Word for at least a solid hour each day--often more--and something inside him seemed to feel a lot more stretchy and elastic. He noticed he wasn't barking at people as much as he had before. He didn't seem to feel as low and depressed as he usually did. He had been most surprised at how interested he was in what he was reading. One thing led to another, one subject to another, and no matter how much he read, it seemed like the list of titles to read that he kept in his notebook kept growing and growing. Though he may not have admitted it, sometimes he couldn't wait to get to his reading time!
Daryl thought he would never be able to go to sleep, but before he knew it, he had dozed off soundly. He suddenly was jolted into wakefulness, and his eyes focused for the spectacle that he knew was going to follow. He was not disappointed. Soon he found himself back where he had been the previous week, watching with bated breath as the rest of the vision unfolded.
The bust line was not disappointing at all--though very well covered, of course. Slim shoulders appeared, with a loose-fitting blouse gathered on one shoulder and reaching gracefully to the other. A slender neck, and the long, wavy hair that had begun well below the waist crowned the top of this beautiful young girl. Young as supposed--Daryl couldn't really tell for sure, because his visitor had a covered face.
In talking about it later, Daryl found it very hard to describe this part, because it wasn't like she was wearing a veil, and it wasn't like she was just faceless, but he could not see her face. It was almost like looking into a pool of water with no reflection. The rest of the body was fully and perfectly formed, but the face was blank.
Daryl swallowed hard, and wondered what was supposed to happen next.
"H-h-hi there!" he whispered. Then he grinned nervously, "Did I do better this time?"
The figure remained silent and motionless.
Daryl tried again. "Who are you? What is your name?" He pulled back his covers and started to get out of bed, but the girl raised her hand sharply in front of her. The message was clear: Stay where you are.
He had no idea how long they remained there, motionless. Although he could not see her eyes, Daryl found himself gazing at what would have been her face, transfixed. It was as though he could feel raw power flowing from her and into him. He felt peace and serenity, but more than anything else, a deep and almost tangible sadness.
"What can I do?" he begged in a whisper. "Tell me! I'll do anything for you, just tell me!"
Suddenly she raised both arms in front of her and fell to her knees, wringing her hands together in an imploring fashion, as the words boomed through Daryl's mind: "EVANGELINE. SAVE MY PEOPLE! SAVE MY PEOPLE!"
Daryl reached his hand forward, wanting to touch her, to help her in some way. But before his eyes, she faded to nothing, and the room was silent once more. He shook his head slowly, glad that he was piecing together more about this mysterious visitor, but still almost as much in the dark as he had been before. Who are her people? And what was that first thing she had said? Evangeline ... of course! That must have been the answer to my first question--her name. This was all very mysterious, and while he was still mentally picking through it all, Daryl's eyes closed in sleep.
*
He awoke with a start the next morning, and a glance at his watch assured him that he still had 45 minutes till breakfast. He turned over and tried to go back to sleep, but his mind was full of the previous night's mystery.
Jesus, he prayed inwardly. What am I supposed to do about this? Am I going to have to wait four more weeks before finding out exactly what I'm supposed to do? Isn't there anything I can do now? He waited patiently, like he knew he was supposed to do when waiting for the Lord to answer him, but he didn't hear anything. Nothing. Of course I don't hear anything! I've never heard a voice, seen a vision ... Daryl scrunched up his face as he realized the foolishness of what he was saying. Maybe that was true two weeks ago, but now, spiritual manifestations were not what he was lacking. Still, he hadn't heard the Lord's voice--at least, he didn't think so.
And then a thought occurred to him: maybe he should get up and put in some legwork. Then it was that he felt it--he would never have said that he heard it, because the Voice that came to his mind was not heard with his ears, but it was felt deep within his heart. It wasn't even really words, but somehow he knew that if he would get up and look, the Lord would lead him. A warm feeling rushed through his whole body as he suddenly realized that he could hear from the Lord.
Maybe all this time I've been waiting for a Voice to boom out to me, when all the time He's been there, whispering in my heart and I haven't even recognized it was Him--I just thought it was me! Daryl shook his head in amazement.
It only took him a few minutes to throw his clothes on, and he tiptoed out into the hallway. Not knowing what to do, he sat down at the telephone table again.
Now what? He thought to himself. As if to fill up time while he waited to find out what he should do, he fiddled with the books on the shelf of the little table. He looked down at the book on the top of the stack and read the title: 10,001 Names for Baby. He smiled and reached over to slide it back into place, when he suddenly felt a cold wind blow through the hall. He looked over at the closed window, then back down at the book.
"Okay! Thanks for the advice!" he said aloud, then muttered to himself, "I guess this is what I was supposed to see."
He started leafing through the pages, and then--Of course! How could I be so dense! He quickly turned the pages towards the "E" section. And there it was:
EVANGELINE
Origin: Greek/Latin
One who brings good tidings
As Daryl sat pondering what--if any--spiritual significance he could scrounge from this write-up, his bedroom door opened and Robert stumbled out, on his way to the bathroom. His eyes widened as he saw his normally sleep-loving roommate looking so very fresh and alert, and--reading a name book?!
"Have you and Sandra been ... ?" Robert asked warily.
"Huh?" Daryl said, as he looked up at Robert. "Oh ... oh, no!! Nothing like that at all!" He laughed nervously. "I just ... I just was sort of passing the time, you know, just a few minutes till breakfast, figured I'd see what books were on the shelf. No, nothing like that at all!"
Robert shook his head and proceeded on across the hall, while Daryl tucked the book under his arm and went back in to make his bed before breakfast.
*
The week passed quickly, and the wee hours of the following Wednesday found Daryl waiting with excited anticipation. He had kept an eye out for any other clues that might be offered him, but nothing more had surfaced. With all the business of daily outreach, house-hunting and taking turns with the kids, he had hardly had time to think about it except when he went to bed at night.
He had continued his reading projects, though, and was even a little more willing to admit that he was beginning to enjoy it--even the prophecies in the New Wine--which had been a bit tough for him to read at first. But after a while he had to admit: the Lord sure had a way with words! And seeing that he was experiencing a personal encounter with the spirit world, he was anxious to keep up with all the other spirit-happenings, in hopes that they might lend some insight into what message he was supposed to garner* from it.
Although he quite expected to have a repeat pattern of the previous Wednesdays, it was still a relief when the familiar crash sounded. Daryl knew that Evangeline would not be far behind. Sure enough, there she came, with the same outfit and the same heart-rending feeling about her--Daryl almost would have said "the same expression on her face," but he had not yet seen her face. Yet somehow--he knew not how--he knew that she did have that same expression on her face ... that face that could not be seen.
"Evangeline," he whispered, so as not to risk waking up Robert (he had no idea what would happen if Robert awoke). "Look, you--or the Lord or someone--led me to this name book, and I looked up your name. It says here, 'one who brings good tidings.' Is that supposed to be a message? What good tidings are you bringing me?"
The figure shook her head.
"Then tell me!" he said. "Tell me what I should do? What do you want from me? You must want something, or you wouldn't keep coming back."
He only had to wait a few moments before his answer came: "I NEED YOU ... WE NEED YOU!"
And that was it ... she was gone, leaving Daryl alone in the darkness.
Why?!! he wrung his hands. Why must this whole procedure be so darn mysterious?!! I can't take this any more! With an exasperated sigh he threw the covers over his head and went back to sleep.
*
All week long, Daryl determined not to think of his ghostly visitor. In spite of the signs and what he had thought he had heard or seen or felt, he now decided that it must not be of the Lord. He was frustrated and felt like he wasn't getting anywhere.
Wednesday night rolled around, and Daryl couldn't bear the thought of another experience. Taking great pains not to fall asleep, he waited till he heard snores wafting up from Robert's corner of the room, and then he pulled the quilt off of his bed and tiptoed out into the hallway, and on to the living room. He threw himself down on a couch and slept.
Daryl was awakened, to his great dismay, by the sound of a muffled crash. He groaned, but as his eyes scoured the room and the seconds turned to minutes, nothing further happened. His watch showed that it was the usual time, but the living room was as silent as a tomb, and almost as dark.
All former desires to avoid this recurrence fled from his mind as a new thought filled him with panic: What if he had to live the rest of his life not knowing what the mystery was that this girl was trying to tell him? Grabbing his quilt with one hand and throwing his pillow under his arm, he scrambled as fast as he could down the hallway, and gingerly opened the door to his room. A sigh of relief--mingled with a choke of surprise--escaped from his throat as his bedding fell to the floor. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, framed in pale purple light. There, in the far corner of the room, quietly sitting on a chair, was Evangeline.
"You have come," she said, and Daryl realized that it was the first time he had actually heard her talk, besides the booming voice that always accompanied her disappearance.
"I'm sorry I wasn't here," Daryl whispered, rather shamefacedly, coming to sit down on his bed. "I was frustrated and confused. But when I realized that I might miss seeing you again and finding out whatever you are supposed to tell me ... I had to come back."
"I understand," she said. "I am sorry it has been startling for you. I was bound to not reveal all to you at one time, for you could not have taken it. You needed time to be strengthened."
"What do you mean?" he questioned.
"Think of yourself the first night you saw me. If I had materialized and spoken to you, what would have been your reaction?"
Daryl nodded, seeing her point.
"But look at you now," she continued. "You are sitting on your bed, only half-dressed and conversing peacefully with a purple ghost. I would say your faith has been somewhat strengthened."
"I should say so." Daryl smiled at her mild sense of humor. "So what is it? What is this thing of such importance that you need to tell me? What do all these cryptic* messages that you have given me mean?"
"All in due time," she said quietly, standing again. "I cannot answer your questions, for the answers to those things need to come from within your own heart. But I can tell you why I have come to you. I want to show you my story."
That was the last word that she spoke, and standing there, she suddenly began to fade. Daryl opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but nothing came out. Then, from within the faded spirit form before him, images began to materialize. No word was spoken throughout the remainder of the experience, but somehow, Daryl partook of what was happening in the pictures he saw--he felt it, he experienced it. It was too hard to describe, and so Daryl usually generalized when he got to telling this part of his tale. But it was very real.
He saw images swirling around him--darkness, explosions, wind and rain. Loud noises everywhere. Biting cold. Then light broke over a distant horizon as quiet was restored. He looked around, but for as far as the eye could see, all that remained seemed to be a desolate wasteland: ruins of houses, piles of rubble, distant sounds of crying, shouting ...
*
Daryl lay pensively on his bed, pondering the events of the night. Somewhere in the middle of his experience he must have dropped off to sleep, for the next thing he knew, the morning sun had been clamoring for recognition and he was lying under his covers--no longer sitting on the edge of his bed, as he last remembered. But at this point, that was probably the least mysterious thing going on, so Daryl did not give it much further thought.
He was, however, intrigued by Evangeline and the experience that he had partaken of with her--what he assumed to have been her life. He guessed that she must be from some war-torn country; perhaps she had died in a war. But there were still so many missing pieces to the puzzle that Daryl felt very confused.
Jesus, he prayed, his eyes still heavy with sleep. I don't know what I am supposed to do, but whatever it is, I want to do it. I will say yes to You now--to whatever You want of me. You've gone to a lot of trouble to win me over, and I want to tell You that You have succeeded. Show me the way and I will follow.
*
The week passed all too slowly for Daryl, for he had a gut feeling that this Wednesday-to-come would be the night that would tell all. After all, it was the sixth week! To add to his excitement, the weeks of house-hunting had at last come to fruition*, and a new place had been acquired. The lease form had been signed, and the moving date was set--Friday morning. Daryl was thankful that he would still have time for his last encounter, but somehow he knew that even this was not a coincidence. Obviously, things in the spirit world were very well synchronized*. He felt like a small chess piece being strategically moved across the chessboard by an extremely skilled player.
When Wednesday finally rolled around, and Daryl watched Evangeline materialize before him, he thought to himself how blessed he was. He couldn't help but marvel at the great lengths the Lord had gone to in manifesting the reality of the world beyond to him. Thank You! he whispered, with a loving look Heavenward.
He then turned to Evangeline, who now had raised her hands in front of her, holding them out to Daryl. "It is time," she said.
"Time for what?" Daryl said, not quite sure what he was getting into this time.
Evangeline's hands remained outstretched. Finally Daryl gingerly reached out his hands and caught them. They felt just like any other hands he had ever held--strange indeed, since they were about as different as was humanly possible! He stood in front of her and found himself looking into what would have been her face ... and there, before his eyes, her face slowly formed. A beautiful face in every way, but what transfixed him was her eyes--deep, searching, incredibly intense, holding his own as if with an iron grip.
"You have come to grips with your own calling," she said. "You have felt my pain. And you have offered your services. Your offer has been accepted. I was sent with a message for you, and the purpose of my coming was to open your eyes, to show you how much more there is for you. I am only one, but there are millions like me. And we need you."
As Daryl looked into her eyes, he felt emotions swirling through him--he felt as though he was feeling the pain of a million souls--first despair, then anger, hopelessness, loss, agony. After a few more seconds, he could take no more, and he wrenched his gaze away, falling to the floor. He almost expected the girl to be gone, but when he turned to look behind him, she still stood there.
"What can I do?" he said hoarsely. "Why me? Why not Robert? He is so much more spiritual than I am!"
"Every person gets their call in a different way, and every person has a calling unique to themselves. There are people in this world that only you can reach. I have let you feel the hearts and souls of those people. They are dear to me. They are my people, and if you do not go to them, they will not hear. My people were in danger of not hearing, and I begged my Lord that I be allowed to come to you, to beseech you to take up your calling, and He agreed. That is why I have come."
"I am only one," Daryl wept.
"One is all He needs," Evangeline knelt by him, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "You are all He needs. One with God makes an unconquerable force."
Daryl felt enveloped in her peace and serenity, and her deep and warm love, which was as strong as it had ever been.--And yet something was different about her, and it took a few moments for him to realize what it was: The sadness had gone!
*
Moving day had come, and most of the Home members had already gone ahead. Daryl had remained on the last closing-down team, and now, with the others heaping the last of the luggage into the van, he turned for one last look at the house he grown so fond of. A voice beside him almost made him jump.
"Lovely house, isn't it?"
Daryl turned to look at a frail old man, who must have been over 80 years old. He was nearly doubled over a cane, and had been passing by when he noticed Daryl's fond gaze.
"Oh, yes," Daryl muttered, not knowing quite what to say. "I've been staying here for the last two months, and I have come to see how special it is."
"Lovely woman, the owner was," the old man continued. "We were very close for a while. Oh, and I haven't even introduced myself! Beg your pardon. I'm Rush, I live across the street."
"Who is this woman you speak of?" Daryl felt a curious prickling in the back of his neck.
"Why, 'twas Miss Evangeline! A lovely, beautiful thing. She came here over forty years ago, a refugee from one of them Eastern European countries. She lost all her family in the war, she said, and she stowed away on a ship to escape. I don't know all of how she did it, but she came here to start afresh, as it were. She was always seeking a way to help the needy. Lovely woman," the old man shook his head pensively. "Passed away ... what was it? Maybe five years or something ... golly, five years ago today! Imagine that! Died peacefully in her sleep--and I was there, holding her hand." Rush smiled as he remembered. "She seemed glad to go, somehow. She told me, 'Now I can do more for them than I ever could while I was here.' She was always fretting that she couldn't do more for her people."
They were interrupted by a call from the van. Daryl turned to the old man, and grasped his hand warmly. "Thank you, sir!" he said. "You don't know how much it means to me to hear that from you. You have helped add the missing pieces to a puzzle I have been trying to figure out. Here ... " he reached into his pocket and pulled out a tract. "This is for you. It is the most precious gift I can think of, and I think Evangeline would want you to read it."
With a wave and a warm handshake, Daryl was off and into the van.
As the motor revved and they pulled away, Daryl found himself gazing out the window, deep in thought. Where would he be a year from now? He didn't even need to ask himself that question, for the answer was as clear as could be ... whatever happened, no matter what it cost or what obstacles he would face, he would find those war-torn fields, and the people he had been commissioned to reach. He would reach them, win them, and tell them of the mighty Savior who loved them enough to send a messenger to plead for their souls.
DORTSJA
Dortsja was a girl who lived in Bosnia with her many brothers and sisters, on a large farm near a city called Mostar. Her mommy and daddy had to work very hard to make a living for their big family. Though Dortsja wasn't the eldest, she had certain jobs that she had to help with every day. But she still had a fair bit of time to play and do other things that she liked. She had good, healthy food to eat, even though it wasn't fancy. She had warm clothes to wear, and a nice dolly and teddy bear to play with.
But Dortsja was unhappy a lot of the time. She wished she had fancier clothes to wear like some of the other girls at her school. She often thought of what it would be like to have cakes and pastries from the city bakery for snacks, instead of just the apples that grew in her family's orchard.
Every time she'd go to the city to help her mommy sell the fruit and veggies at the market, she'd look around and see all the nice toys, hairclips, necklaces and other things on the stands. She wished she could buy them. But she knew that the money they received for their fruits and vegetables would be needed for buying food for their family and household needs, so they couldn't afford to buy any of these extras.
Dortsja had a girlfriend at school named Natasha. Natasha would often talk with Dortsja, telling her how her mommy would spend many afternoons with her playing games, taking long walks or teaching her how to cook or sew.
Natasha was the only child in her family, and her daddy owned a nice shop. Natasha had many things that Dortsja had always wanted. She always had money to buy sweets, she had beautiful clothes and a shiny gold necklace with her name engraved in it. She had a little bottle of perfume that smelt like flowers. Dortsja liked this perfume a lot, and Natasha would sometimes let her wear a little.
But whenever Natasha would tell how she and her mommy had spent the afternoon together, Dortsja would feel like crying inside. Dortsja really loved her mommy. It was her most favorite thing to cuddle up in her mother's arms and listen to a story, or sing a song together. But Dortsja's mommy was so busy with the housework and taking care of the younger children that Dortsja hardly ever had Mommy all to herself.
Many times Dortsja would think how nice it would be to be an only child, like her friend Natasha was. Every time she thought of this, Dortsja would become sadder and sadder. Sometimes she would go in a corner by herself and cry. When her mommy would see her and ask her what was the matter, Dortsja would only answer, "Oh, it's nothing."
Then one day, Dortsja couldn't hide her feelings any more.
"Oh, Mommy," she said. "Why can't we have more money? Why do we have to be so poor? Why do we have to be such a big family? Why can't I be the only one? Then you wouldn't have so much work to do, and we could have more time and fun together."
Dortsja's mommy looked a little sad as she told her, "Dortsja, money and fun aren't the most important things in life. I can understand that you'd like to have more, but God knows best, and He gives us what we need and what He knows is best for us. Sometimes we don't understand why He allows things to be a certain way, but we just have to trust Him that He will make all things work together for good.
"Yes, we do have a big family, and yes, we are poor. But there are also many things that we have to be thankful for. Look at it from the positive side: You have older brothers who are always there to help you when you need them; your older sisters love to spend time with you. Your younger brothers and sisters look up to you, and need you to love them and play with them; you have the joy of seeing them do things that you have taught them to do. Think of all the things you have that Natasha doesn't get to enjoy. Maybe she does get more time with her mommy, but that doesn't mean that she has more to be happy about than you do."
Dortsja was sorry to see her mommy looking sad, and she tried to smile as she answered, "Yes, Mommy."
Not long after that, a big war began in her country. There was shooting, bombs were flying through the air, and many people were killed. Soldiers came through the city and stole everything they could. When they came to Natasha's father's shop, they killed him and took everything that Natasha's family had.
Poor Natasha and her mommy! They had nothing left. They had been used to Natasha's father taking care of everything, and all their income came from his business; so now without him they were helpless. Natasha's mommy knew that it would be very difficult to support her and her daughter now that they were on their own.
The soldiers also came to Dortsja's family's farm, but they didn't find anything of value there, so they just left them alone.
A few days later, however, while Dortsja's father was working in the field, he stepped on a land mine* that the soldiers had planted and it exploded. He didn't die, but his leg was hurt so badly that he couldn't work any more.
Dortsja was really worried. That night at dinner she said to her mommy, "What are we going to do now that Daddy can't work on the farm anymore?"
Mommy smiled and answered, "Well, didn't I tell you that God gave us this big family for a reason?" Dortsja didn't understand. She looked sort of confused, until her older brothers Miksa, Barkov, and Zardin spoke up.
"Daddy doesn't need to work! We will work for him! We know how to run the farm, since we've been working along with Daddy since we were small."
Then her older sisters spoke up. "And we can help with the animals and clean the house!"
Dortsja began to understand now. "I can still take the fruit and vegetables to the market for you, Mommy. I know how to weigh and sell them by myself."
Even the little ones said they could help. Mommy and Daddy looked at each other, and Dortsja could see the tears in their eyes. Daddy could hardly speak because of how happy and thankful he felt for his loving, helpful children.
"Thank you, my dear sons and daughters," he said. "I always knew that those years of hard work to take care of you were worth it. You children are my most precious treasures, worth more to me than all the riches in the world. I love you all so much!"
Then it was the children's turn to have tears in their eyes. Mommy turned to Dortsja and said, "Now can you see God's wisdom in giving us a big family?" Dortsja couldn't answer because she had a big lump in her throat, but she nodded yes. She thought of poor Natasha and her mommy--and the many others like them who were all alone in the world. Suddenly she felt incredibly rich. She knew that she would never again complain or feel sad about having a big family or being poor.
THE SECRET OF THE BLACK BOOK AND THE CROSS
Once upon a time, in a great big country far away, there was a young boy named Misha. He thought that the big country he lived in was the whole world because he had never seen or heard about any other places. Winters were very long and cold, and food and daily necessities were scarce. The simple pleasures and the sweetness of family life were very precious. The great big country that Misha grew up in was the Soviet Union, and the little boy who grew up in that great big country was me.
I was not a movie star. I was not a writer. But my life was exciting--both traumatic and beautiful, sad and thrilling. It was cold, yet also warm and comforting. My life was full of many things.
A Rough and Rugged Life
Let me begin when I was seven, almost eight. I lived in the countryside in the Ukraine, which was then part of the Soviet Union. As far as the eye could see there were corn and potato fields. Around our small farm were fruit trees and a little garden with flowers that could take a bit of hard weather.
My grandmother--whom we called Babushka--and my mother and my sisters would get up early every day and walk to the market in the village with their bundles, no matter what the weather was like. In the winter they would bring our stored apples and potatoes and the hand-knit fabrics that they had been working on. They would go down to the market early in the morning and set up their little booth. They would sit there all day until the sun began to set. If it was a good day, they would sell a couple of kilos of potatoes, some bags of apples and maybe a pair of knitted wool socks.
I remember when I was younger, how my mother would come to me in the evening and tuck me in. She would pat my cheek with her hands that were so rough, it would almost feel a bit uncomfortable, but the love and warmth in her eyes made me not want to miss it for anything. I remember seeing that there had been tears in those eyes. Sometimes I would walk into the kitchen and see my mother standing by the counter, preparing a simple meal, and she would quickly wipe the tears from her face before turning around and looking at me with a smile.
Then times changed and life became even more difficult. It was 1932, and we found ourselves in the middle of the great famine that took such a great toll on our beautiful country. There was very little food, and most of what we ate came from what we could grow ourselves. Most days we would eat boiled potatoes and cabbage, and thankfully, there were days when the bread was a little less stale than others.
I didn't see my mother cry anymore. I just saw that the lines on her forehead had become deeper. Her hair had turned gray, even though she wasn't very old. Her walk had become heavier. Though she still came to tuck me in, she didn't always look deeply into my eyes--maybe because she knew that I would see the pain and the hopelessness in them.
My father was different. He worked hard in the field with our one old horse. It was very tedious for him to till the hard, weather-beaten ground. But I always saw his thankfulness when he brought in the meager harvest, putting some aside for our own family to be able to survive. For some reason, although life was hard for him too, I could always see a ray of hope in his eyes. He was quiet, but the few words he said always brought inspiration and happiness to us children.
The Secret
By the time I was 12 years old I had a few years of school behind me. I had learned to read and write, and had learned about communism, brotherhood, camaraderie*, and the greatness of our leaders. My mother seemed disappointed that my father never spoke about these things. In the evenings, I would see him discreetly pull out a little black book from under his pillow. I could see his facial expression change from strained and tired to peaceful, resting and hopeful as he started reading the little book.
One day my mother asked me to go and bring in the laundry. As I folded my father's pants, a small cross fell out of the pocket. Later, I brought it to him and asked what this little cross meant. At first he looked surprised, as if he had been found out. But then he quickly took the little cross and put it into his shirt pocket. He looked up, closed his eyes for a moment and then told me: "One day I will tell you about this cross, but for now it is best that you do not know."
I loved and respected my father, and knew him well enough to not question him. Although I was yearning to understand and to know more about the little cross and that old black book that seemed to give such strength, hope, and peace to my father's mind, I believed my father knew best.
In Desperate Need
As time passed, we struggled to make a living day by day. My grandmother had now passed away, and the harshest years of the great famine were now behind us. But life in our small village was still very difficult. My days were spent doing chores and helping my mother and sister. By now I was nearly 16, had finished school, and devoted my free time to caring for and teaching my younger sisters. Anya was 14 years old, and Martha had just turned 10.
Day after day we carried our bundles to the little market place and sat quietly in the cold stalls, hoping for someone to stop and choose our potatoes, cabbage and apples over the other ones in this small market that looked so much the same. Though most foods were still scarce, we always had something simple to eat, something small. Mother always managed to make us some hot soup. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep us going through the cold winter days. Many times our pants would be too short for our growing legs, and our toes would peer out from the tips of our worn shoes. We would wear whatever was available, and when we grew out of a piece of clothing to the point that we couldn't wear it another day, it would be passed on to the next younger one.
The short summers came and went. Our lives seemed to be heading down a long, hard stony road. One thing that kept me going was the hope that one day my father would find me responsible and mature enough for him to tell me about his mysterious book and silver cross. Another thing that kept me going was my family's desperate need for my help, as I was the one with the most physical strength, besides my father, among our small household.
A Devastating Visit
Three days after my 16th birthday, my already tattered world was suddenly pulled apart. I woke up to the sound of a heavy and authoritative knock on our front door. My mother jumped out of bed. My father rushed to the back room, where I saw him gather up some papers, the little black book and the cross. He lifted up a loose plank from the floor, quickly slipped the things underneath, and fit the plank back in its place.
The door burst open, and three uniformed men stepped into our house. I heard them talking loudly about an arrest warrant for my parents. Charges had been brought against them, and they would have to come along. My mother started crying hysterically, and my father held her around her shoulders.
Then my father turned around and looked deep into my eyes. "Take care of your sisters. Be careful, okay? We'll be back!" he said calmly.
And so they went.
After that we didn't see our parents for a long, long time. We didn't understand what had happened, but we knew that they had been arrested along with some other people from our village. We heard rumors about them being disloyal to the government and our communist comrades. Now my sisters and I were looked down on by many of the people in our village, so our lives became even harder.
Nobody from the market wanted to buy anything from us anymore. Nobody would talk to us. Soon our last bit of food ran out. Martha became very weak.
We didn't talk much among ourselves. It hurt me badly that my sisters were getting so quiet. They had stopped asking questions about why all this was happening since I never had any answers. Somewhere deep down I knew that there had to be an answer, a reason for all this. There had to be hope somewhere, there had to be some meaning. Somehow I felt we just had to keep going.
Day after day I couldn't help but think about the little black book and the cross. But there was nothing I wanted less than to be disloyal or disrespectful to my father. I remembered that he said that one day he would tell me. Still, the vision of the little black book and the cross under the floorboard in the back room kept flashing in my mind.
One night I decided that the time had come for us to move. I couldn't just sit around and see my sisters suffer. Our parents had now been gone for four months. My mind was in a muddle and I felt distressed. I remember thinking,
If I just had someone I could ask! I don't know where to go. I don't know what to do. What should I do with the little black book and the cross? What if my father comes back and looks for it and it's gone? Would he know that I took it away to rescue it, and would he trust that I wouldn't read it or show it to anyone without his approval?
A Friend in Time of Need
The next morning Boris came by. Though he lived far away, he was a very close friend of my father who often came to our aid in times of desperate need. To our great relief, this dear farmer was still friendly towards us. He was concerned about our well being, and brought us some bread and cheese. He also told us that for our sakes, it would be best if we left the area for a while.
He gave me a piece of paper with an address on it, and told us to go to the village and try to find the train that went between the cities. He said that we should try to sneak onto the goods carriage at the back of the train at nine o'clock, when there was a change of shifts at the station. I decided to follow his advice. We packed our few belongings and got ready to leave.
It was October. The weather was changing, and it was already getting quite cold. We put on all the clothes we had to keep out the biting wind. We held hands and walked out into the darkness, hoping that we would not meet any of our now hostile* villagers on the way. It was close to 9:00 p.m. when we arrived at the station. I turned around and cast a last look back in the direction of our home. I remember thinking about the little black book and the cross, still under the living room floor.
After making sure the coast was clear, we hurried onto the goods carriage. There were no guards around, so we were able to press between some boxed goods. The space was small, but we all felt a bit of warmth from each other as we sat crunched between the packages and boxes. Before we knew it, we were all fast asleep.
Ivan and Emma
We awoke the next morning at the sound of a whistle and the screeching noise of the train's brakes. We looked up just in time to catch a glimpse of a sign overhead--it was the town that Boris had told us to go to. We scrambled out of the train wagon, trying not to be seen by anyone since we had traveled as "blind passengers."
We walked up towards the center of the town, hoping to find a place out of the wind to share some of the bread and cheese that our dear friend had given to us before our departure the night before. To our surprise, many houses were abandoned and there were very few people walking around. The few people we did see looked worried. We later found out that many had suffered the same fate as our own little family had, accused of disloyalty to the party. It was all very scary for us, and we worried a lot.
We were glad that we had been given some directions. With a bit of apprehension we made our way to the address that Boris had given us. It led us to the house of his brother, Ivan. He had given us a letter for Ivan that explained our situation. He said his brother was a friendly man who would take us in for the time being.
Apprehensively, I knocked on the door. Soon I heard footsteps, and a big man with a gray beard and friendly eyes opened the door; behind him stood a small woman wearing a large apron. They both looked surprised to see us. I mustered up enough courage to tell him the name of our village and that we had a letter from his brother. He ripped the letter open with great excitement. Then his facial expression changed from great excitement and happiness to sorrow.
As he finished the letter he looked down for a moment and then handed it to his wife, whom he introduced to us as Emma. He looked at us with great compassion in his eyes and said, "Come in, you are welcome in our house. Please, please be welcome. Please come in. We don't have much, but what we have we will be happy to share with you, our dear friends."
Their home was simple, but clean and tidy, and there was an inviting smell coming from the small kitchen in the back where Emma was preparing a meal. We could smell the delightful aroma of freshly baked bread and our stomachs rumbled in eager anticipation. Dear Ivan quickly noticed that we were hungry, tired, and cold. He held me around my shoulders and led my sisters and me into their small living room. The warm stove gave out a welcoming, life-saving warmth. Before we knew it, we were gathered around their table, enjoying the fresh bread, cheese and varenie*.
None of us remembered having felt so good for a long, long time. It wasn't long before an incredible tiredness overwhelmed us, and Emma led us to a small back room where two beds were made up. They were such an inviting sight, and we soon fell into a merciful sleep.
The Light Breaks Through!
I woke up before my sisters and walked into the living room. There Ivan and Emma were sitting bent over the table quietly talking. They didn't hear me coming in my stocking feet, and so I overheard a few words of what Ivan was saying.
"Our dear Lord will supply. After all, we were in the same boat and He never failed us, did He?"
Then he noticed my presence and turned around to greet me with a warm smile. He inquired if I had had a good rest, and I assured him that I hadn't slept so well for as long as I could remember. I told him how good it was for me to see my younger sisters with a full stomach, sleeping peacefully in a warm bed. I could see that it made Ivan and Emma happy to hear that they had been good to us in this way.
He invited me to come over and sit down, and gave me a cup of chai*. I couldn't remember ever having met people so warm and friendly. It was strange for me to see happiness and joy in their eyes. That was something that seemed almost foreign to me now.
I knew that these people were poor and that they were probably struggling for their daily food and to keep a roof over their head, just as my family had.--So then why this happiness? Why this contentment? Before I even knew it, I had opened my mouth and asked them.
"Why do you look so content, so happy? How could you be? People are not happy, because it is so difficult to simply exist. How can you be happy? Please tell me. And another thing, why do you remind me so much of my father, though he looks very different from you?"
Someone Closer than a Friend!
Ivan put his large rough hand on top of mine and looked into my eyes.
"Because I have Jesus," he said with a kind smile. "I have been so blessed to be one of the few in this country to know the truth that Jesus came to give us. And do you know what Jesus said? He said, 'Even though you walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will be with you. I will never leave you nor forsake you. I have loved you with an everlasting love that shall never be taken away from you.'"
"Who is this Jesus?" I asked. "Is He a friend you know?"
The old man thought for a moment and replied with conviction, "Yes, He is a friend that I know. He is the best Friend that I have. He is the Son of God. Have you ever heard about God?"
I was taken back hearing this kind and loving man talk about things that I always heard were lies, and that other people would be fearful to even mention.
"I heard that some people believe that there is a God," I answered, "but that this belief is only superstition, and an opiate* for the weak-minded. I was taught that it is a lie that people who are disloyal to the party use to undermine faith in our government."
"Did you know, dear Misha," Ivan continued, "that my brother and your own dear father know and love this Jesus as well?"
"No!" I said, almost in a hush. "Really? Is that why they took my father away?"
Ivan paused for a moment, closed his eyes, and then said, "Yes, I'm afraid so. That's why they took away your father and your mother. Do you know what they did to our dear Jesus when He came to this world with His message of love and peace? They tortured Him and then they crucified Him. But after three days He rose again, and He's still living today in the heart of every person who is willing to let Him in, to simply open the door to their heart and let Him live there.
"Have you ever felt hopeless, dear Misha? Have you ever felt as though there's nothing to live for? Have you ever wondered why you were born? Why all this misery? Well, Misha, there is a reason for it all, and that reason is this: that you will realize that this world has no answer. The Communist Party has no answer.
"The only real answer is in finding God's love through His Son Jesus Christ, and in admitting to Him that you are empty, that you are lost, cold, and afraid, that you need help that you haven't found anywhere else. Even if you don't know Jesus or understand Him, if you want that peace, if you want that love, if you want the answer in your life, Jesus can give it to you.
"Love is the answer. Jesus, God's Son, is love. God is love and He sent His dear Son into this miserable cold world to bring His love to man. For God so loved the world--He loved you, Misha--that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him shall never die but instead have everlasting life--and with it hope and love."
The Black Book
"And God gave us this Book, His promises to us." Ivan put his hand on a little black book that he had just taken from his lap. It was just like the one my father had put under the floor back at home.
"This is God's contract with us. These are promises of all that He wants to give you--promises of protection, of supply, of love without measure. He says here that if you ask, you will receive. If you knock on the doors you want to go through, He will open them. If you seek for something, you will find it. If you ask Him, if there's something you really want, Misha, with all your heart "
"Yes," I said, "I want my parents to come back safely. I want life to not be so hard. I want my sisters to be safe and healthy and happy. I want people to not be unhappy, to not cry. I want for people to not fight. I want for my mother to laugh again, so that I can see that warm look in her eyes when she looks at me. I want those deep furrows in her forehead to go away. I want people to not have to fear. I want to not have to be afraid "
Then I did something I hadn't done for a long time. I buried my face in my hands and I cried and cried and cried.
A little of the confusion and pressure seemed to come out as I cried. Ivan reached out and held me in his big arms. That gave me such a safe and warm feeling. Emma's caring and loving eyes looked into mine as she stretched over and put her hand softly on my tear-stained face.
"Don't worry, son," she said. "Everything is going to work out. You see how much Jesus loves you? He brought you and your sisters here safely, and He has promised in His Word that everything will work out for good. The secret to all these things that you want are in this Book," she said, pointing at Ivan's black book. "Promises that will fulfill every one of your wishes. Stay with us for a while. In the evenings we can read together. You can get to know our Jesus, and then He can be yours also. Do you want that?"
At that moment, it was almost as if all my fears, all the tension, and all the pain was washed away with the few words that came out of my mouth. "Yes, I want to know your Jesus. I want Him to be mine, too."
These words marked a turning point in my life. I now understood why my father could not tell me this secret--or at least why he thought it was not safe for me to see the cross or the book when I had asked him. If I had known about their faith, the same people who took him and mother away would probably have pressured me and my sisters to tell them that we were Christians too.
My father's faith was not strong enough at that point to have understood the endless love and promises of Jesus' Words--that He will never leave us or forsake us, that whatever we go through in our lives has a purpose, that He is with us even in the "valley of the shadow of death," and that He will surely comfort us.
The Happy Ending
We stayed with Ivan and Emma for several years, and both my sisters and I came to know Jesus. Though times were still hard, having Jesus in our hearts gave us the strength and courage that we had lacked, to make it through. We didn't have much, but the Lord always provided enough for us and our gracious hosts.
When I was about 19, war broke out with Germany. I was sent to the front lines--where I died in combat. The Lord mercifully took me away to His beautiful Kingdom before I was forced to kill anyone. The days before our regiment went to the front lines were beautiful because I was able to lead all the other soldiers in the barracks to Jesus. I couldn't have asked for any better way to spend my last days on Earth.
I never saw my parents again on Earth, but I was wonderfully reunited with them in Heaven when they eventually passed on to their reward. My dear mother died in prison, but my father survived, and was released after many years in a labor camp. He spent his remaining years with my two sisters, quietly reading his Bible and loving the people around him. Strangely enough, he said that those years behind bars were some of the most precious to him, as he had seen my mother come to believe and trust our dear Jesus. Together, as they told others about His endless love, they testified that their lives had became richer than ever. Then they were separated because they were having too much of an influence on the other prisoners detained with them. But they always had an inner peace and trust that we children were taken care of--which truly we were.
Now, here I am, in these beautiful Heavenly surroundings. One day I was walking with our dear Lord. It was one of those wonderful moments of talk-time with Jesus. I told Him, "Dear Jesus, there's something that still hurts a little bit. I wanted so much to be more of a witness while I was on Earth, but my life was so short."
That was when Jesus told me the exciting news that I could talk to you and tell you my story, to inspire you who are already witnesses to go and find people like me. He said that you are very faithful, but that you down there--who we admire so much--sometimes need to hear these heartcries and these stories to be able to do an even better job; to even be more fervent in your wonderful work there.
And so I came to tell you this story. It has been heavy on my heart because I know that times have changed, and the end is getting closer. You, my dear brothers and sisters, have been chosen to live in these last days on Earth. You are being sent to the front lines, and you are the front-line soldiers, whatever part of the battle you are engaged in. Maybe you are staying by the stuff, or maybe you are fighting the Enemy face to face. In my eyes, and in the way we look at you from Here, each of you is a shining knight.
Surely the weapons of your warfare are not carnal, but even mightier through God--to the pulling down of strongholds. Your armor is shining and the banner over you is love. So fight on, and soon--very soon--you will see that it was worth it all.
Please, please pray that you can find those like me who don't know--the ones in darkness, those who have cried so many tears that they have no more tears to cry, those who have no hope and hardly any strength to go on. Please come to their rescue. There are legions of us up Here who are ready to show you which way to go, to give you tips and hints, to whisper in your ears so that you can find those who are out there in the dark.
Jesus told me that you could witness for me. You are His hands, His mouth, His eyes and His feet, to go places that He wants to go. He told me you could go for me, too. Oh, I'm so happy. Thank you so much for listening to my story. I love you!
Lots of love from your friend and brother in Christ,
Misha!
(Definitions included throughout booklet:)
* specter: ghost, phantom
* warily: being careful and watchful
* nocturnal: of the night
* surreal: dreamlike
* apparition: something that appears
* bone up: brush up, study, do research
* garner: to gather
* cryptic: mysterious, with hidden meaning
* come to fruition: to complete or accomplish a task
* synchronized: operating together in perfect order
* land mine: a bomb that is buried beneath the ground, and explodes when it is stepped on
* camaraderie: goodwill between friends (from "comrade," a close companion--commonly used in Communist countries)
* hostile: feeling or showing ill will; unfavorable
* varenie: homemade jam
* chai: tea
* opiate: something that dulls the senses and induces relaxation
(End of file.)
Copyright (c) 1998 by Aurora Productions