The prison door shut behind me with a bang. I
heard the key turn in the huge lock, then the guard’s footsteps faded away.
Three days of solitary confinement. That was the usual procedure before
being admitted into a prison. I was alone.
But not really. Christ was present with me. And
I had another reason not to feel alone. In fact, I was rather excited.
Memories were flooding my mind. After nearly eight years of relative
freedom, I had once again been arrested. This time, I had gone to visit a
Christian woman in Leningrad. When I returned to my sisters’ house after
midnight, they had come out to greet me. Two officers had appeared out of
the shadows and told me I was under arrest....
At the trial, the usual accusations were
held against me—teaching minors about God, holding meetings without
permission from the state, not registering our churches with the
state.
This time, they added a new charge. I was
charged with creating an unhealthy environment because too many people had
crowded into one space. Some expert had come up with the idea that it was
not sanitary for so many people to be breathing the same air for an extended
period of time. I wanted to ask them who was going charge the government
with creating an unhealthy environment the trams, buses, and trains. Those
public transport vehicles were far more crowded than our meeting places. But
I knew it was hopeless to say anything....
Now, here in my cell, I was reflecting on what
my mother had told us after Papa had been arrested.
“He is in Sverdlovsk in prison." This was all we knew for some time.
Now I was in Sverdlovsk. I was in the same
prison my father had been in! This excited me, for my mind went back to my
memories of Papa. Had he spent time in this very cell?
Even though my breath was quite visible in the
cold air, I eagerly examined the cell walls. Had Papa left some message
behind, scrawled on the wall? Had he stood here, looking up at the barred
window that let in a small patch of light from the waning day?... It was
quite possible that my father really had been in this cell. It was one of
the cells that held all the new inmates.
Forty years had passed since Papa had been in
this prison. When I had been unloaded from the
Black Raven, I imagined my fatherwalking through the courtyard, standing
at attention on the granite slab as his sentence was read. When I stood on
that slab upon my arrival, I tried to fit my shoes into the worn spaces that
marked the granite. So many thousands of prisoners had stood there that
there were actually small hollows where the shoes had worn away the surface
of the hard stone. Here was where my father had stood!
Now, in my cell, with no one around, I spoke out
loud. “Oh, Papa! Did you ever think about your son following in your
footsteps and ending up in the same prison where you were held? I am a
privileged son to have had such a wonderful, godly father, who taught me the
ways of the Lord! I praise the Lord for this privilege—that I am counted
worthy of the honor of following you!”
I was so glad I was alone. I began praying out loud. “God, I thank you that
your Son wore the crown of thorns and suffered for us so that we get our
strength from Him. I thank you for all those in the church who were willing
to suffer for you that we may know the truth of the Lord in our time. The
joy of my salvation is now matched by the joy of being able to suffer for
your name. I thank you for my family, and I once more place them into your
care. You will be a father to my sons and a husband to Vera.”
In spite of the joy in my heart, I became aware
of the cold beginning to seep through my heavy winter clothes. My feet were
becoming numb. So I walked about vigorously while I prayed. I slapped my
hands together. I sang. I stamped my feet to get the blood circulating. In
spite of the stark, chill surroundings, I felt strangely invigorated. The
joy in my heart was greater than the cold that threatened my body.
When I had warmed myself somewhat, I lay down on
the bunk. There were no covers, so I drew my arms out of my coat sleeves to
try to conserve my body heat.
When I awoke some hours later, my feet were so
numb I could hardly feel them. I got up and began walking briskly back and
forth across the floor. I could not walk far before I was stopped by the
wall, so I tried walking in circles. Finally I felt my feet begin to warm up
a little.
Once more I thought of my father. I remembered
his stories from the Bible... I remembered the instructions, “Meet me
at the fountain, the great white throne!” I pictured him there even
now, praising God and waiting for his family to join him. Now Mama was
there, too. And Vera, my oldest sister.... Would I be taken soon?
I fell to my knees in that cell and again
thanked God for my heritage.
A number of years after Papa had passed on to
heaven, a brother who had been in prison with him told Mama more particulars
about his death.
“Ivan’s legs were very bad, and he could not
walk by himself. Perhaps he had been beaten severely and his legs never
healed. So when we were put into the big room in Tavda prison, we had to
support him. I still do not know why, but as soon as we entered the
cell, one rowdy man came up to us and told us we were not welcome in the
cell. He spoke very rudely to us.
“Ivan began speaking. He said he wanted to
tell the men in there about God.
“This infuriated the man, and calling for
some others, he began beating Brother Ivan. His first blow knocked your
husband to the floor. In a rage, he began to slam Ivan’s head on the
concrete floor. “Some of the rest of the prisoners came up and tried to
pull the madman off. This started a riot.....
“After the guards broke up the riot, we
carried Ivan to a cot. His breathing became very labored, and that is
when he dictated his last letter to you. “He told us to make sure that
we did not write that he had died, but that he had gone ahead to the
great white throne of God where he would be waiting for his family.”
My mother had not wept or become hysterical.
Calmly, she had told us the story, then we knelt to pray. I think she had
been sure this was going to happen and the Spirit had prepared her for
it....
I thought back to our visit with Papa in prison.
I remembered, in spite of his pale countenance and his obviously weak
physical condition, the sparkle in his eyes as he smiled at us. ... The same
sparkle, the same kind look we children knew so well from the days he was at
home with us. That was the legacy he left behind.
I longed right then to be taken to the great
white throne to praise my Lord Jesus Christ. I wanted so much to meet my
father and my mother and the other saints who had walked the path of
suffering. An overwhelming longing swept through my entire body.
"For our light
affliction, which is but for a moment [in light of eternity],
is working for us a far
more exceeding and eternal weight of glory, while we do not look
at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not
seen. For the things which are seen are temporary, but the
things which are not seen are eternal."
2
Corinthians 4:16-18
|
In a world that is fast
rejecting God's Word or twisting His Truth, we need to prepare for unthinkable
challenges to our faith and families. This book will help us stand
firm in Christ and gratefully "pay the small price" of suffering
with Him!
I suggest you order at least ten of these books and share
with your friends and relatives, so that they, too, may be encouraged
and equipped for the times ahead. (That's what I did)
This
wonderful book is available through
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