There are no family photographs, only memories. Memories of a five-year old imprisoned by Japanese soldiers. Memories of love, courage and most of all hope. Hope that there was a God who would walk through the valley of death, known as WWII, with her. And He did.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
A Path To Church
Mamma fears for our lives every day. Early each morning she prays to our Jesus in Heaven. We are only half Indonesian and half Dutch. This is not a good thing apparently. I will try to find out why later.
Our friends next door are Chinese. They are still free and Mamma says they will help us as much as they can. Rumor has it that when we run out of food the Japanese will not allow us to get anymore. We will need our friends to help get food for us. Mamma is good at rationing what we have, but it's probably only enough for a week.
My older siblings, Greta and Frederick, have been going to church on their own. But Mamma says it's very important that we all go together now. I know it in my heart that Jesus will help us through this awful time. Every night I kneel by my bed, fold my hands, and talk to Him and He always makes me feel less scared. Sometimes He takes my fear completely away. I wish I could feel like that all the time.
It will take us fifteen minutes to walk to church and we will have to be very careful. We will stay in the shadows of our trees and sneak through the village behind our property. The villagers are very good people. They will help us.
Gunfire is all around us. Do they see us? Are they shooting at us? Don't scream. Run. Keep running. Don't scream. Bullets sound like the rushing wind. We keep running. The villagers show us the way to safety. For now, we are safe.