The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom with John and Elizabeth Sherrill

I have heard this author and this book quoted many, many times. I knew it was set in World War II Holland and Germany and dealt with forgiveness, but that was about it. I first read The Diary of Anne Frank as a girl, and so I've had a long interest in the Jews and their hiding and extermination.

This story begins with Corrie describing her warm and wonderful early family life in a Dutch town. Her description of her aunts, siblings, and especially her mother and father paint a rich and inspiring picture of family love, faith, and devotion. When Corrie is disappointed in a love relationship, she writes:

How long I lay on my bed sobbing for the one love of my life I do not know. Later, I heard Father's footsteps coming up the stairs. For a moment I was a little girl again waiting for him to tuck the blankets tight. But this was a hurt that no blanket could shut out, and suddenly I was afraid of what Father would say. Afraid he would say, "There'll be someone else soon," and that forever afterward this untruth would lie between us. For in some deep part of me I knew already that there would not--soon or ever--be anyone else. 

The sweet cigar-smell came into the room with Father. And of course he did say the false, idle words. 

"Corrie," he began instead, "do you know what hurts so very much? It's love. Love is the strongest force in the world, and when it is blocked that means pain.

"There are two things we can do when this happens, We can kill the love so that it stops hurting. But then of course part of us dies, too. Or, Corrie, we can ask God to open up another route for that love to travel.

"God loves Karel--even more than you do--and if you ask Him, He will give you His love for this man, a love nothing can prevent, nothing destroy. Whenever we cannot love in the old, human way, Corrie, God can give us the perfect way."

I did not know, as I listened to Father's footsteps winding back down the stairs, that he had given me more than the key to this hard moment. I did not know that he had put into my hands the secret that would open far darker rooms than this--places where there was not, on a human level, anything to love at all.

I was still in kindergarten in these matters of love. My task just then was to give up my feeling for Karel without giving up the joy and wonder that had grown with it. And so, that very hour, lying there on my bed, I whispered the enormous prayer:

"Lord, I give to You the way I feel about Karel, my thoughts about our future--oh, You know! Everything! Give me Your way of seeing Karel instead. Help me to love him that way. That much. And even as I said the words I fell asleep. 

It will take me some time and thought and prayer to truly understand what she is saying here. I begin to grasp it and it slips away from me...but it's a star to reach for. Other parts, near the end of the story are equally moving and build on this divine love theme...

(Page 194 forwards)
It grew harder and harder. Even within these four walls there was too much misery, too much seemingly pointless suffering. Every day something else failed to make sense, something grew too heavy. "Will You carry this too, Lord Jesus?"

But as the rest of the world grew stranger, one thing became increasingly clear. And that was the reason the two of us were here. Why others should suffer we were not shown. As for us, from morning until lights-out, whenever we were not in ranks for roll call, our Bible was the center of an ever-widening circle of help and hope. Like waifs clustered around a blazing fire, we gathered about it, holding out our hearts to its warmth and light. The blacker the night around us grew, the brighter and truer and more beautiful burned the word of God. "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?...Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerers through him that loved us."

I would look about us as Betsie read, watching the light leap from face to face. More than conquerers.... It was not a wish. It was a fact. We knew it, we experienced it minute by minute--poor, hated, hungry. We are more than conquerors. Not "we shall be." We are! Life in Ravensbruck took place on two separate levels, mutually impossible. One, the observable, external life, grew every day more horrible. The other, the life we lived with God, grew daily better, truth upon truth, glory upon glory.

Sometimes I would slip the Bible from its little sack with hands that shook, so mysterious had it become to me. It was new; it had just been written. I marveled sometimes that the ink was dry. I had believed the Bible always, but reading it now had nothing to do with belief. It was simply a description of the way thigs were--of hell and heaven, of how men act and how God acts. I had read a thousand times the story of Jesus' arrest--how soldiers had slapped Him, laughed at Him, flogged Him. Now such happenings had faces and voices. 

And from page 201:

Back at the barracks we formed yet another line--would there never be an end to columns and waits?--to receive our ladle of turnip soup in the center room. Then, as quickly as we could for the press of people, Betsie and I made our way to the rear of the dormitory room where we held our worship "service." Around our own platform area there was not enough light to read the Bible, but back here a small light bulb cast a wan yellow circle on the wall, and here an even larger group of women gathered. 

They were services like no others, these times in Barracks 28. A single meeting night might include a recital of the Magnificat in Latin by a group of Roman Catholics a whispered hymn by some Lutherans, and a sotto-voce chant by Eastern 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. 

As I ponder the beauty of these descriptions, I can't help but feel guilty for how little I value my scriptures sometimes! Sometimes I take them for granted, sometimes I don't bother to ask the Holy Spirit how they apply to me...sometimes my eyes just graze over the words! This book helped me understand how valuable and life-giving scripture can be to one's very survival. I wouldn't say my life was easy, but compared to this life in a concentration camp, it certainly is! I know I rely more heavily on the Lord in times of trouble; my challenge is to rely on Him at all times... to always be meek and lowly and to remember Him.

This morning I'm watching the snow lightly fall in the Canyon as I sit at my desk in complete warmth and comfort. May I always value this lovely scene and gift from God. May I never take my creature comforts for granted or as something I deserve!!!  This week I had the gift of saying goodbye to Midge Greathouse. Her daughter called Mary shortly after her death, so when we arrived, her hands and head were still warm. As we softly talked and recalled our sweet experiences with her, she grew cooler. It was so apparent that her spirit was long gone. I loved how the nurse told us that she felt there were angels attending and welcoming Midge into the Spirit world as she departed. This nurse had had many experiences like this, and told how she felt Midge was surrounded by great love and many, many welcoming spirits. Midge was meek and lowly, devoted to her family, and to the Church. Her scriptures are falling apart with notes, highlighting, and sticky notes. This is a woman who was true to her word in her deeds... It's pretty humbling to remember all that I have been blessed with, and yet, haven't perhaps shown my gratitude as I should. Midge's life was hard...and maybe our comforts are no gift!? I'm grateful for this morning's reflection time and feel grateful to move out into this snowy day with a grateful heart.

The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger

I read this "back in the day" although I can't recall if that was high school or college. I remember wondering what all the fuss was about. I didn't think it was particularly good or memorable... I do remember that it was frequently on banned book lists, and I didn't think it was bad enough for that designation either. I recall that I liked it okay; didn't understand why it was garnering so much attention. I remember thinking it was a little odd. That's about all I remember.

Then, this winter, Leonard and I watched a documentary on J.D. Salinger. It intrigued us both. Why did he later become such a recluse? Why was his personal life so tortured? It made us both want to read this "classic" again, so when I happened to find it in a used bookstore before we came on vacation, I snapped it up.

So, I just finished it today. Again, I'm not sure what the fuss was about. It's interesting to go into the mind of a seriously troubled 16-year old. It's fascinating to read about his ease in New York City. It was depressing to read about all of his troubled relationships...and his cynicism...

I'm wondering if it is Holden Caulfield's despair that made this book attractive to John Lennon's murderer. As if, somehow, this despair justifies murder? I don't understand that impulse or connection. I found the book not depressing, exactly, but sad. His utter lack of joy was sad and his lack of belief in himself was heart-breaking. His love for his siblings represented the only positive in the book, and that wasn't enough (within the timeline of the story) to get him out of his downward spiral.  But maybe it was, since it ends soon after his time with Phoebe (Holden's little sister). I love how he enjoyed the fresh perspective and utter frankness of children.

Life and Death in Shanghai by Nien Cheng

This is an incredible book! My friend Mary lent it to me, and I wasn't too excited to read a book about life in prison during Chairman Mao's regime. I had it for awhile before I started reading it. Then my friend Briant Davis suggested that we read this book for our book club. He thought it might help people understand his Chinese wife, Jasmine. Now I had a reason to read it, so I could decide if it would be appropriate for our book club or not...

And read it, I did. Even though Cheng's life is hard, it's not depressing or oppressive to read about. It's actually amazing to read about. The way the Chinese government treats this woman is almost unbelievable. So many things about her situation are hard to believe and understand! For example:

• they interrogate people over and over again
• they keep detailed records of what is said
• nothing is forgotten
• possessions confiscated are kept for years
• there are spies everywhere
• mandatory meetings with scripted agendas and actions
• nothing to read but Chairman Mao
• no freedom to choose anything
• painted signs and slogans that are expected to be believed
• police and government make many, many mistakes and aren't allowed to own them or admit them
• prison life is horrible
• people were expected to learn a profession (even medical doctors) by doing it, not studying it

Maybe it's trite to say it, but how could all of this happened? Was no one thinking or speaking out at all? How did this once-great society turn so completely ignorant and close-minded? It's an amazing look at a culture gone BAD!

The real message in this book for me was Cheng's courage and persistence. She refused to admit her "guilt" so matter what. She is an amazing person! She stood against unbelievable odds and stood firm, despite all kinds of physical, emotional, and spiritual torture. 

Delicious! by Ruth Reichl

While Len and I were on vacation in Arizona, we checked out the local Deseret Industries store and I happened to find this book. I've enjoyed Reichl's autobiographical books and so I thought I would enjoy this one as well. I did! Although I have to say it was a little disappointing to find the characters and situations rather trite and predictable. It was the perfect vacation read, however, because it was purely enjoyable fluff without any depth and not much pain. And sprinkled throughout is the constant connection with various foods and dishes which is always fun for a foodie! Just before we came to Arizona, my friend Mary gave me some herbal tea that is Ruth Reichl's tea somehow?! I didn't read the label any too carefully. Now my dilemma is, do I give it to Mary or Sierra to read first??!!!

One thing besides the food that I enjoyed was the description of life in New York. I always enjoy urban settings that focus on the exciting parts of that life, with all of its opportunities and beauties and interesting shops, restaurants, and people. This book has that appeal as well.

The characters are pretty one-dimensional and the plot is predictable, but there is some intrigue with figuring out some of the clues hidden in the unfolding of the story. No basis in reality but sort of fun. Also, I enjoyed some of the descriptions of life during World War II and found them fresh and informative. Not a bad start for a first-time novelist!