When I was in third grade, I committed an act of literary subterfuge that my parents still don’t know about. My mom had been reading “The Hiding Place” to our family, and by the second chapter, I knew there was no way I could wait for Mom to read chapters of this book to us, one by one. Every paragraph in this book was a cliffhanger—especially because Mom had told us the story was true. I checked the book out of the library, hid it in my backpack, and stayed up late at night, reading it by the digital glow of my clock. I even snuck it into Sunday school, handily hidden under my Bible. I kept fingering the book, tortured by my questions of how the story would end, as I had only a few chapters left. Finally, I asked if I could use the restroom. I took the book with me, intending to read for just a moment. And it seemed like just a moment before I heard people in the hallway—Sunday school was over. That afternoon, I finished the book. And as Mom read the rest of it to us, I pretended surprise at each “plot twist.” Mom never found out, but I was so tortured by pangs of conscience that I never tried that again.
Recently, Mom mentioned “The Hiding Place” when I wrote a post about my family’s favorite books. And I wondered—would the book stand the test of time? Would it still be as moving now as it had been then? I bought it, read it in one night, and answered my own questions with a resounding yes. This book—this testimony of God’s love and grace in the face of terrible suffering—once again captured me from the first word to the incredible ending. “The Hiding Place” is no mere profession of faith; it is one of the most staggering accounts of faith in action that I have ever read. I have often heard it said that we stand on the shoulders of spiritual giants who came before us; one of those spiritual giants, for me, is Corrie ten Boom.
“The Hiding Place,” written by Corrie ten Boom, begins on the eve of World War II. At this time, Corrie lived with her sister and elderly father in a home attached to their watchmaking and repair shop. When the Nazis invaded Holland, the ten Booms’ peaceful existence ended, and they made the decision to use their shop and home to help move Jews and members of the Dutch resistance through extensive networks of hiding places until they could make it safely out of the country. Corrie never doubted her choice to do this; she did, however, doubt her own capabilities. She was, after all, fifty—and not trained to be a spy. Yet again and again, when she asked God in her prayers how to complete this task she had taken on, God reassured her. And she concluded, “I know that the experiences of our lives, when we let God use them, become the mysterious and perfect preparation for the work He will give us to do.”
Eventually, as the Nazi presence grew stronger, it became increasingly impossible to move people, as the underground networks were being discovered. So Corrie and her family made the decision to build a closet in her bedroom to hide Jews and members of the Dutch resistance. But a Dutch informant told the Nazis, and the ten Boom house was raided. Corrie and her family were arrested—but the four Jews and two Dutchmen in her closet were not found and later made it to safety.
The ten Boom family was taken to a Dutch prison run by Nazis. Within days, Corrie’s elderly father died. Corrie was placed in solitary confinement with no news of her family for months. Discouraged, Corrie spent every moment in prayer, wondering if she could have done anything to prevent the raid. God met her in those moments, and she was led to what she believed was an incredibly important spiritual truth: “Perhaps only when human effort had done its best and failed, would God’s power alone be free to work. . . The real sin lay in thinking that any power to help and transform came from me. Of course it was not my wholeness, but Christ’s that made the difference.” Still physically burdened, Corrie’s spiritual burden lightened, and she determined to make the best of her solitary confinement, passing the hours by quoting verses, praying, even sewing little figures onto her undergarments using a thread she had pulled out of her raggedy dress, the one she’d been arrested in and had worn for months.
One day, Nazi guards came to her cell and forced her at gunpoint to join thousands of other women in a march to the cold steel boxcars of a train. Corrie caught sight of her sister, Betsie, and managed to find a place next to her on the train—the sisters were finally reunited, but their joy was overshadowed by this unexpected journey. None of the women knew where they were going; they managed to bore a tiny peephole in the train so that they could see, to some extent, where they were headed. Not long after they made the peephole, they saw their most ominous fear in a sign still visible in the darkness: Germany. Germany—the word made its way in whispers around the boxcar. And then, they saw a sign that made them all cry out, almost as one, in terrible fear: Ravensbrück. The women knew of Ravensbrück—it was a concentration camp for women, and by this time in the war, it was so overcrowded that women were forced to sleep piled on top of each other, on straw filled with fleas and lice. They were required to stand for hours every day for a roll call, then forced to work in factories providing products for the Nazis.
Betsie and Corrie, by this time in the war, were in their fifties. Betsie’s health weakened daily, but she and Corrie were buoyed by one precious item—Corrie had managed to sneak a copy of the Bible into the camp with her. And every night, Corrie and Betsie shared the truths of that precious book with their fellow prisoners. Flea-bitten, utterly exhausted, filthy, completely demoralized, and covered with sores, these women were desperate for hope. This is Corrie’s recount of that time:
“Life in Ravensbrück 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. . . 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. . . and I would know again that in darkness God’s truth shines most clear. And thus began the closest, most joyous weeks of all the time in Ravensbrück. Side by side, in the sanctuary of God’s fleas, Betsie and I ministered the Word of God to all in the room. We sat by deathbeds that became doorways of heaven. We watched women who had lost everything grow rich in hope.”
“Sleeping quarters” at Ravensbruck, where Corrie and Betsie led their Bible studies.
Did you catch those words she used? Glory. Life-giving. Previews of heaven. A sanctuary. Joyous. Hope. All because of the Word of God. It had become so precious to these women that it made an unbearable existence bearable. It illuminated darkness. And, perhaps most importantly, it sustained the women by giving them hope. I think about how precious that one smuggled Bible was to those women—and I wonder how many Bibles I have in my house. Recovery Bibles. Reference Bibles. Different translations of the Bible. The Bible that I consider to be my lifelong companion, as I’ve had it since I was sixteen. And then, of course, there are all the Bibles I can access online. Yet how many of these Bibles do I even look at anymore? Mostly just my lifelong Bible—the one I’ve written in, over and over. I know I’ll never look at that Bible in the same way after reading about how Corrie and Betsie craved what I have such an excess of—a book that answers all my questions, fills my heart with truth, and time after time, has given me hope in the way it lights up my darkness.
Despite the hope they managed to find in the terrible circumstances of Ravensbrück, Corrie’s sister Betsie grew weaker and weaker. Angry guards beat her when she couldn’t stand for the hours of roll call. The fermented straw she slept in caused infections in her lungs and under her skin. One morning, two Nazi guards came for Betsie, dragging her because she could no longer walk. Corrie watched in horror as Betsie was taken to the infirmary, the dreaded stone building that housed the crematorium—a place no woman ever left once she’d gone in. And Betsie didn’t. She died, just hours after being taken there. Yet Corrie considered herself blessed because she was allowed to see Betsie’s body before it was cremated—and every line of pain and suffering on Betsie’s face had been erased and replaced with an expression of absolute peace.
Not long after Betsie’s death, in April of 1945, the Nazis opened Ravensbrück, ordering all women who were still able to walk to leave the camp in what was later called a Death March. Corrie made it back to the boxcars and was returned to Holland, where she was liberated after spending a few weeks in an actual medical hospital to treat the swelling in her legs. In the hospital, she thought back on her journey, especially on the loss of her dear sister, wondering if there was something she could have done to save Betsie. And once again, God met her in that moment of heartbreak, strengthening her. She concluded, “There are no ‘ifs’ in God’s kingdom. His timing is perfect. His will is our hiding place. Lord Jesus, keep me in Your will! Don’t let me go mad by poking about outside it.”
When she was released from the hospital, Corrie returned to the home she had shared with Betsie and her father. The remaining members of her family were reunited with her. And when the war ended, information began to trickle out about Ravensbrück. Nearly one hundred thousand women and children had died there. Corrie discovered that she had been on the list of women to be sent to the gas chambers; a clerical error had led to her liberation instead. Corrie, of course, did not believe this to be a clerical error; she knew it was God’s intervention.
After the war, Corrie helped to establish rehabilitation centers for refugees and concentration camp survivors. She made a choice to devote the rest of her life to carrying the message that “Jesus can turn loss into glory.” She spoke in at least 61 countries about her experience with the hiding place in her home, and the hiding place of God’s arms that she had found again and again in the prison and concentration camps that followed. Before her death at 91, she wrote several books about her faith and how it had been strengthened, not broken, during those nightmarish years.
The actual “Hiding Place,” built into Corrie ten Boom’s closet. Jews and members of the Dutch resistance would climb in through a small opening in the closet and stay until it was safe to leave. The wall of the hiding place has been opened to give visitors a look into it.
I can’t help but wonder—would my faith had been broken? If I had sat in prison and a concentration camp because I was doing the work of God, would I have had the faith of Corrie ten Boom? Or would I have broken underneath the burdens of sickness, death, and loss? Would I have clung to the promises of the God who had loved me and proven Himself to me over and over—or would I have railed against Him, asking Him why He seemed to be punishing me? Corrie wrote, after her ordeal, “I had learned much, in the past year, about what I could and could not bear.” I admit—I’m so afraid that I could not bear it—any of it—that I have often prayed that God won’t test me. And yet. . . and yet. . . should He choose to test me, I pray that I will learn what I can bear. And I pray that, like Corrie, I will find God’s strength waiting for me there, and I will bear it joyfully, hopefully, for Him—the only true hiding place I have ever found.
“You can never learn that Christ is all you need,
until Christ is all you have.”Corrie ten Boom
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Comments 18
Please let us edit our grammar Monty!!!
I will pass on your heartfelt plea to Monty! Thanks for the smile.
A believer in God and his human redemption Jesus would suffer through or they would rebuke Jesus u set threat of death or torture. It matters not. Jesus knows our minds!!! We do not need to be strong against the evil. We have our strength against death. The endgame is his and ours. We are warriors on a side that will triumph in the afterlife. This is where we show a small amount of metal and faith. Then we move as time into a place without time. Where glory is the word and hate has been erased!!
Hi, Steve–again, more much appreciated insights from you. You’re right; we know what the end game is here. My mom has a T-shirt that says something like “Spoiler alert: the tomb was empty.” We win. We are indeed, as you said, warriors on the side that wins. I love the triumphant ending of your comment–“then we move as time into a place without time. Where glory is the word and hate has been erased!” Oh, that just gives me goosebumps. Especially as Good Friday and Easter approach. Thank you for reminding me of the triumphant end game. And thank you for being such a faithful reader–I say that often to you, but I really do mean it. You were one of my first signups and one of my first readers, and I have appreciated that ever since.
Forgive me for so much information, but the Dutch soldiers where send at the end of 1945 to Indonesia to get rid of the Japanese who occupied much of Indonesia and had concentration camps there. Shortly after the Dutch troops arrived a national uprising took place by young nationals, mostly Muslims. They killed and murdered many mixed national families, more then 10.000 are still unidentified. The killings were some of the most atrocious type of killings to take place. Both the Indonesian and the Dutch governments covered a lot of it up. My sister, once she heard the plea of my father, went on a mission to find the truth and many documentaries later much of the truth came out. She uncovered too much. My late father never spoke about it, he too was a victim, I believe it haunted him till the day he died. It is known as the ” Bersiap period”, it is little known and what has been written about it is not even correct. My sister Pia interviewed many soldiers and Indonesians and found a lot of truths, today still denied by both the Indonesian and Dutch government. She actually published a huge secret file given to her confidentially by a high ranking officer’s wife once he died. They had become friends and his wife felt to give the files to my sister. I lived with this gentle giant, my father and lived with the effects of this uncle who would terrorize us. We lived with the stories, the knowledge, the sadness and the fact that there had been Dutch traitors who supported the nazi’s. The after effects of the war when nutrition was poor affected my health and that of my sister and our teeth and the stories never ceased. It is amazing how one like me who was not in the actual war can still be so affected, but it is so. My family actually had a German child every summer–a program established by Christians to ease the after effects of German children who grew up in total poverty and lacked all the basics. They came every summer and a family would take them in, feed them, give clothes for them and their siblings and send them home after the summer with loads of extra’s. There was a lot to forgive and a lot to think about and no child growing up in the Netherlands ever forgot.
Klara–never ask me to forgive you for too much information–especially when it’s history. There’s simply no such thing as too much information, as far as I’m concerned. I’m ashamed to say that I had never heard a word about the Dutch and the Indonesians–so the secrecy surrounding the “Bersiap Period” was definitely accomplished by both the Dutch and Indonesian governments. You wrote that you were not in “the actual war” but still so affected. Dear, dear Klara, you were in a whole different kind of war. I cannot imagine how your father must have felt, day after day, with the secrets he was forced to carry. The heroes of war aren’t always the kind we see with our human eyes; sometimes, they’re the people who return and must live with their memories, with being “haunted,” as you said. I didn’t know that German children were taken in by Christian families–how difficult for them and for the families they stayed with. Thank you for sharing all of this. You wrote that no child growing up in the Netherlands ever forgot–thanks to you, I won’t, either. So much love to you tonight, dear friend.
This post is so wonderful!!!! And I definitely needed the boost tonight! I will be reading “The Hiding Place” as soon as possible!
Thank you, dear Abi! You’ll never be sorry you read it. There’s a wealth of spiritual wisdom on every single page. I know you’ll like it.
P.S. Renee, a powerful video, from Corrie ten Boom. So much emotion and feeling, listening, I felt it transfer to me. I can’t thank you enough for today’s Blog.
Harold, you are most welcome. I’ve watched the video many times myself and always find something new in it to inspire me.
I didn’t know you snuck and read that book! I do remember Mom reading it to us and I couldn’t wait for the next chapter. This is timely writing for me as I’m here in Berlin visiting Kaitlyn and just went to a concentration camp yesterday. I cannot wrap my brain around how Corrie Ten Boom was able to endure all that she did but it had to be because she knew God and his word. I only wish I could believe in it as powerfully as she did and never once take it for granted of all the ways I have access to it as you said. Thank you for writing this. Another wonderful writing; each day I can’t wait for them.
P.S. I only snuck and read “Anne of the Island” before Mom was done reading it to us.
Lisa–I forgot that you went to a concentration camp with Kaitlyn. I know what you mean about wrapping your brain around what Corrie ten Boom suffered, yet did it gladly because it was for her God. I think you do believe in it as powerfully as she did; we just haven’t been tested to see if we could endure like she did. I’m glad you liked this one. By the way, Dad claims he knew I read “The Hiding Place” before Mom finished; I wonder if he knows about “Anne of the Island,” too. . .
Renee, this Blog, Powerful, Thought provoking, sadness, and the ultimate reward, available for Believers, the Glory of in Heaven. I cannot imagine, the strength, mental and physical pain of the victims . We are have situations in life, physical and emotional, I myself feel that the Faith my mother instilled in me, and my late blooming faith and commitment to God, will guide me, ultimately to Our Heavenly Father. The Holocaust, we can never forget, I know tat is a phrase used many,many times. But, we should never lose focus on it, not dwell on it, but have a place in our consciousness, at all times. Yes, The Word of Gid, is a Review of Heaven. Faith is the belief that God is real and that God is Good. It is a choice to believe that the one who made it all hasn’t left it all Nd that he still sends light into the shadows and responds to gestures of faith. Authorities is the belief that God will do what is right. God says that the more hopeless your circumstances, the more likely your salvation, The greater your care, the more genuine your prayers. The darker the room, the greater the need for light. God’s help us near and always avaikable, but it is only given to those who seek it. Again, a heartfelt thanks to you, Renee for today’s Blog. Gold Bless You, and Monty. Stay strong. You both will be rewarded.
Harold, I can’t imagine the pain of the victims, either. And it’s hard forme to understand why. But if Corrie ten Boom didn’t ask why, I can’t either. I like your phrase–the Word of God is a preview of heaven. And I espeically like what you wrote about “the darker the room, the greater the need for light.” I don’t know many places where the light of God was needed more than in those concentration camps. You, as always, have added insight to my writing, and I thank you for it, my friend.
Heart wrenching and beautiful all at the same time. I feel an inkling of why you wrote this at this time and my thoughts and feelings are with you and Monty.
Could she forgive, can we forgive–no, but Someone can. The terrible truth is that we are incapable of this kind of forgiveness, but the Lord knows that already– He only asks one question of us ” My dear child will you give it to Me?”
And the only answer is ” Yes Lord, You know I am incapable of this kind of forgiveness, please Lord take this burden from me, I give it to you, I will rest in that You know how impossible this is for me but that I also know that You will release me from the pain of my unforgiving soul and release me. I give this burden to You freely, knowing you WILL deliver me. Amen.
Klara–your inkling is correct about why I wrote this at this time. I do love what Corrie says in the video–that she could not forgive, but that He could. The prayer you wrote is beautiful–especially the part where you said, “I will rest in that You know how impossible this is for me.” He does know, and time and again, He makes the impossible possible. Thank you for adding to my words, my friend.
So much in this post, memories come floating back. Growing up with the after effects of the war is not pretty. My mother’s brother got caught and send to a German labour camp and came back ( along with so many others) with a trauma. It caused him to go nuts every once in a while, hitting and breaking everything around him when it came back to haunt him and then he would disappear for days. We were terrified of him when he showed up at our house, knowing there always something he would want from us from my Oma and Opa and it would end up in a fight. My dad was send to Indonesia for three years. This gentle , giant man, who never spoke about his time there asked one of my sister’s shortly before his death “will there be enough forgiveness for me”. I ask that question re some of my past actions. The only way I can cope is by releasing it in the safe arms of Jesus who has overcome FOR me and on my behalf. Just after I became a reborn follower of Jesus, God answered where my father would go through a song–what a revelation to know that my father would enter ” Into His glory”. The evil one is busy at work and likes to taunt us endlessly, we surely need to hold on and make this Holy Week, one we celebrate constantly to know the power of the kind of forgiveness only the Lord is capable off.
Klara, I had no idea that you grew up in the after effects of such a war. Had I thought about it, it would have made perfect sense because of where you lived in those years. I feel sad for your uncle that the after effects of the war caused so much trouble for him and your family. I guess we didn’t know about PTSD back then. I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t know anything about the Dutch being sent to Indonesia. You, my dear friend, are a survivor–a warrior with many, many stories to tell. Thank you for sharing them with me.