The Hiding Place, by Corrie Ten Boom

I am a few days early with my report on this month's selection for the Book Club Discussion started by Marathon Bird. But that is okay, because I was a little late last month!

I don’t know why I had never read The Hiding Place, but maybe it was partly because I did not want to visit the things that went on at the hands of the Germans in WWll. When I was a kid I went with my dad to see Mein Kampf, the documentary that showed the depravity of the Holocaust. Those pictures were deeply etched in my mind. I think that is why I did not want to see Schindler’s List.

As I read of the heroism of the Ten Boom family, I was horrified again at the treatment of those considered by the Nazis as inferior. But I was buoyed by the faith of the family, especially Corrie and Betsie as they were incarcerated and mistreated. I could identify with Corrie, as she wanted to honor God but who constantly had to deal with the emotions of anger and hate for her captors. I was truly inspired by Betsie, who was more Christ-like in her dealing with the deprivation and the persecution.

I am glad I read this book, because its message was not really about creating a hiding place for Jewish refugees and an underground network to get them to safety. Its message, at least to me was that all of us need a Hiding Place as described in Psalm 32:7, “Thou art my hiding place; Thou dost preserve from trouble…”

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After A Week At Church Camp!

Teaching at church camp is one of my favorite things in life, and it is always a learning experience for me as well as the kids. Last week I again had the tenth graders, thirty eight of them. They were great! And I was tickled to have a young minister work with me this year who not so long ago he sat in my class at the same camp!



Usually at camp I am a pretty creative and active teacher. I use a lot of teaching techniques to keep the class thinking and discovering for themselves. This year our study was in the Minor Prophets, with the aim of seeing "How Great Is Our God." We have a morning class of an hour and fifteen minutes and an afternoon class of forty five minutes. I made a decision that the sophomores would read, or hear read, as much of the texts of those books as possible. Paul set the scene for each reading and then one of the guys would read the message of God through the prophet. The kids were then asked to create a MySpace bulletin that might be sent to the rest of the campers to transmit the message they had just heard.




I went to camp thinking that at least half the kids would fall asleep during the readings. I mean, it is hot and the kids are tired and the messages are, in some cases, long and a bit repetitive! I figured that for the first time in my camp experience they would find my class boring. But I wanted them to hear the Word of God so much that I was willing to take the chance.





We did have a three or four that could not keep their eyes open, but I was pleasantly surprised at how many read along with the "prophet" in their own Bibles. I was even more pleased at how much they understood the main message of the various texts, especially the traits of our great God!




It made me wonder how I could have doubted that the Bible itself would not suffice to teach those precious kids. And it reinforced my idea that we all need to actually read it more than we do!

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Why Me?

Temptations and trials are difficult to deal with rationally. When tragedy strikes we automatically think of self. If a hurricane comes and destroys the home in which I live, my first thought is, “Why me?” If someone near and dear to me is struck with a serious illness, my first question is, “How much must I bear?”

I fail o remember that Go has ordained that the sun will shine on the just and the unjust. He does not discriminate! The best answer to the question, “Why me?”, is, “Why not.”

Matthew 5:45 “For He causes the sun to rise on the evil and the good, and send rain on the righteous and the unrighteousness.”

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Watership Down Review

This post is part of the Book Club Challenge by Marathon Bird.
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The book club assigned book for the month of May was Watership Down. I had never read it, I think in part because I had the idea that it was an innocuous children’s book that was too long. But I was completely wrong. I no longer think it is too long and I am not at all sure I would call it a children’s book. I kept wishing for a lapine dictionary, only to find a glossary at the end of the book. Too late, I had just finished the story.

Richard Adams did a great job of developing characters and making them appealing. I came to care about a great number of the players in the tale of the rabbits moving to establish a safe and pleasant home at Watership Down. I am not sure who I would call my favorite character, all of them had attributes that were compelling. I found myself identifying with Hazel, trusting Fiver, admiring Bigwig and fearing General Woundwort. As I read the book, I was especially entertained by Kehaar, the seagull that became an important ally in the battles of Efrafa. I think the reason I liked him is that I know some folks in the Caribbean that sound a lot like the feathered fellow from the “Beeg Vater”.

Adams was masterful in moving the story along and making me believe these rabbits have proverbs and prophecies, longings and loyalties. I am not sure what message Adams hoped to transmit to the readers, but the one that rang out loudest to me was that everyone in a community is an important element of the society, from the smallest and meekest to the wisest and strongest.

I was pleased with the book and am pleased that I spent the time to read it. The next selection for the group is The Hiding Place, by Corrie Ten Boom. If you would like to participate in the book club, read the book and post a review on June 25. Happy reading.

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Three S's for Two Weeks!

My wife sprang a surprise on me this evening. We were out walking the dog, having a pleasant conversation, when she announced that we are going to try a two week experiment. She said during the week days we will do away with three S's. No Sweets, No Snacks, and No Seconds.

I think she is trying to tell me something. I am not sure what that something. Being caught off guard, I agreed. I hope this two week experiment doesn't kill me!

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A Day At Dad's House!

Dad called early this week to let me know that he had just finished digging the ‘taters in his back yard garden. He harvested 167 pounds of new potatoes. I had to get down to his place, about sixty miles away, before all my siblings and dad’s neighbors had taken them all. So we went today.

Dad loves to dig in the dirt and his yard is a showplace almost all year round. He still has poinsettias as tall as the eaves of his house, which have been blooming since November. The amaryllis, the Confederate roses, the larkspur, the hidden ginger lilies, the esperanza and the gladiolas all are in bloom. But the real jaw dropping beauty is in his day lilies. Dad has over 300 different varieties of day lily. He colors are amazing. People in the community often stop to take pictures. My secretary goes through the town where Dad lives when she is on the way to visit her mother. She loves to take a three block detour to see what is going on in Dad’s garden.

To add to the joy of the day, my grandsons took their ball gloves so they could play while we visited. As we loaded up, I threw in a couple of gloves as well. As I suspected, the boys asked Dad if he would play catch with them. He said he did not have a glove anymore. I told him I had a couple in the car, if he was up to playing. We went out and threw the ball around for a half an hour. Before long Dad was telling the guys how to turn their gloves and to use two hands, and to get right in front of the ball. It sure brought back memories of the thousands of days he said those things to me when I was the age my grandsons are now!

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No Biscuits for Dad!

A few days ago I wrote a piece for a challenge about one's worst mistake. It caused me to remember a story about my mom and dad early in their marriage. Dad was a farm boy from Arkansas. Mom was from a suburb of Trenton, New Jersey. Dad grew up having biscuits with almost every meal, made from scratch, of course. Mom had never had a homemade biscuit, but my dad's mom tried to teach her the art of biscuit making.

Maybe it was that my mom's mother had passed away at only 27 years old and Mom never learned to cook as a youngster. Or maybe it was just her Yankee genes that caused her such difficulty in ever mastering biscuit-making. She did try, and once in a while they were edible, but most of the time that was just not so.


One evening as we were sitting at the supper table, Dad saw a rabbit nibbling on the flower of one of his squash plants in the garden he had planted in the back yard. Dad jumped up from his seat, grabbing a couple of biscuits from the stack on the table. He threw them like stones at the rabbit.


It was the last time Mom ever made scratch biscuits!

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