My Hiding Place

Having just completed "The Hiding Place", it's difficult to find myself anything but grateful - laying in bed on day #1 of bedrest. Even with an uncertain number of days ahead of us I am so thankful to God...

• That Ezra is still in there. One more day down.
  
• For BJ - even after a long 10 hour day taking calls from angry people he came home to be Mr. Mom and my help without a single word of complaint. Only support, concern and love.
  
• For the reminder of how blessed we were with Canaan to have had him arrive full term and perfectly healthy. Every milestone met, every smile, even every cry - we are indeed overwhelmingly blessed.
  
• That I have a comfy bed to lay in.
  
• For a good book to read.
  
• For intelligent, careful, caring doctors.
  
• For the medicine that already seems to be helping keep the contractions at bay.
  
• For the video baby monitor making it possible for me to see the sweet baby I miss already.
  
• For our wonderful friends and family who are already helping us in so many ways.
  
• For Ezra and his sweet, strong kicks.
  
• And of course, for plain M&M's.
  

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Corrie ten Boom and her sister Betsy, after entering their barracks at the concentration camp, Ravensbruck (for hiding Jews in their home).

....

"That's it, Corrie! That's His answer. 'Give thanks in all circumstances!' That is what we can do. We can start right now to thank God for every single thing about this new barracks!"

I stared at her, then around me at the dark, foul-aired room.
"Such as?" I said.

"Such as being assigned together."

I bit my lip. "Oh yes, Lord Jesus!"

....

"Thank You," Betsy went on serenely, "for the fleas and for---"

The fleas! This was too much. "Betsy, there's no way even God can make me grateful for a flea."

"Give thanks in all circumstances,'" she quoted. "It doesn't say, 'in pleasant circumstances.' Fleas are part of this place where God has put us."

And so we stood between piers of bunks and gave thanks for fleas. But this time I was sure Betsy was wrong.

....

One evening I got back to the barracks late from a wood-gathering foray outside the walls. Betsy was waiting for me, as always, so that we could walk through the food line together. Her eyes were twinkling.

"You're looking extraordinarily pleased with yourself," I told her.

"You know we've never understood why we had so much freedom in the big room," (all other barracks were under rigid surveillance, guards in their warm wool capes marching constantly up and down) she said. "Well - I found out."

That afternoon, she said, there'd been confusion in her knitting group about sock sizes and they'd asked the supervisor to come and settle it.

"But she wouldn't. She wouldn't step through the door and neither would the guards. And you know why?"

Betsy could not keep the triumph from her voice: "Because of the fleas! That's what she said, 'That place is crawling with fleas!"