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Respectful Reader
As I thought about the impact of books on my life, I was reminded of a story snippet. Many years ago, as a young girl, maybe seven or eight years of age, my mother proposed a dowry for every book I would read. You see, I was not what one would consider an avid reader at the time, and my mother knew the value of books and what their contents could do for a young lady such as myself. They could be used as a tool to travel the world through the eyes of the author and gain insight into the emotions of every carefully crafted character. Wisdom lay captured at every turn of the page, just waiting to be found. Mama proposed a 5 Rand incentive for every book I would read, and I could tell her the story in full after the completion of the book. I absolutely saw an opportunity for riches and never even considered the other jewels I would find in my exploration. I slowly started exploring different titles and soon began to enjoy reading the many tales, from “There Was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly” to my favorite as a child, “Boepielit.” It helped that my mom worked at a famous publishing house in South Africa at the time because she was privy to numerous books throughout her career, and when she later started working at a Christian bookstore, my selections changed as well.
Nowadays, I am captivated by stories of Missionaries from all around the globe. I have traveled with Brother Andrew through his book “God’s Smuggler,” who was born during the Cold War in the Netherlands in 1928 and operated like a Christian international spy, as he smuggled Bibles into communist Eastern Europe in the 1960s and coordinated the delivery of a million Bibles into China via a tugboat manned by twenty missionaries in the 1980s.
I have learned much about suffering as I read Corrie ten Boom’s book, “The Hiding Place,” where she finds herself amid World War II and the Nazi occupation of the Netherlands. How her family was steadfast in their faith and the courage, it took to rise to the challenge of protecting their Jewish neighbors by hiding them in their home. They transformed their home into a sanctuary for those fleeing persecution and Corrie’s family’s defiance against the Third Reich through an underground network offering hope to those who needed it the most. Yet, I felt the heartache when Corrie and her entire family were captured by the Nazis and taken to prison. I rode with them in the dark, over-populated, foul-smelling train carts to the cold and heartless concentration camps. I stood with them every morning for hours in the rain, snow, and heat for roll-call, I witnessed the beating and execution of every friend they made while imprisoned, and I rejoiced with them when their bunker was infested with fleas because it gave them a chance to praise and worship Jesus. I watched in awe of how God provided in miraculous ways for them when the vitamin bottle did not run out for months on end, and even though I was not there physically, I felt and saw every single moment of their experience through Corrie’s eyes. I could see the miracle of how God had saved her life through a clerical error, and she could walk away from those atrocities to share His Good News with the rest of the world.
I have walked through the Philippine Jungle with Gracia Burnham as she and her husband, who served as missionaries for seventeen years, were captured on their 18th wedding anniversary and held captive by the Abu Sayyaf terrorists who deemed them to be political hostages and would seek payment from the US government during their hostage negotiations. I could feel their hunger pains when they had no food to eat and prayed for God to provide; I became just as annoyed with the leaches that would make their way onto her legs and feet as they were moved throughout the jungle. I could imagine the pain and discomfort of her husband, who was handcuffed to a tree every night to sleep, and I shared in her embarrassment when she had stomach problems and her only solution was to make use of a plastic bag. I was able to rejoice with them when God miraculously provided special meals for them and how He answered their prayers throughout the whole journey in the most unusual ways. I could stand in awe of her fortitude after her husband got shot on a botched rescue attempt and how she still, after everything they endured, walked away with praise on her lips for our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ at the end of 376 days of captivity.
I would not have been able to experience any of these stories if they had not been recorded in a book, and it is, therefore, the reason that I remain steadfast in my encouragement, for now, for my own daughter to keep on reading. Where else would I be able to learn so much from others and see a world that I could not possibly travel to, where I can share in the nuanced experiences of those who have gone before me through the words of their pen.
It is then my plea, no, rather my prayer that everyone would pick up a book of any kind and read a captivating tale that you can nowhere else get than in the pages of a magnificent story confined in the cover of your next book right here on our website.
Izelle Hickey
