Proof The Bible Is True

A hard, angry pounding came at the front door. I crawled underneath the bed and nestled into the space between the floor and the mattress. I curled up into a ball, trying to make myself disappear. My mother had hidden herself in a kitchen cupboard.

It was June 1945, and I was 17 years old—too young to fully understand what was happening around me in Berlin, the city I’d grown up in. The war had ended a month earlier. Mutti, my mother, told me that life would go back to normal soon. Papa would come home any day now. We’d have more to eat.

But I’d heard other rumors. Stories of Russian soldiers hurting people. I was terrified that any moment now, a soldier would march into my room.

The banging at the front door grew louder. I held my breath. The knocking stopped. Maybe whoever it was would give up and go away…

The door burst open. Loud footsteps filled the apartment. I peered out from underneath the bed and saw two pairs of boots. Soldiers! The men paced back and forth in the living room, calling out to each other in harsh, angry tones, and worse, in a language I couldn’t understand.

I pressed my body closer to the wall, as far under the bed as I could get, and prayed as Mutti had taught me.

Read More  When an Angel Knocks… | Guideposts.