Bethany Ann’s Story:
I tried to be brave, despite the armed guards entering our train cabin. Second Timothy 1:7 played in my head: God has not given me a spirit of fear … God has not given me a spirit of fear …
The friends I traveled with gave me a reassuring glance. Feigning relaxed smiles, we welcomed the guards as the train chugged to a reluctant stop at the border of Hungary and Romania. Fascination with Americans glowed in the expressions of the two young guards. It was 1991, and few tourists rode this train. These young men had rare opportunities to practice English.
When our friend Pastor Serban had invited us to visit, he had reminded us of Romania’s new-found freedom from Communist oppression. A firing squad had just executed President Ceausescu, the revolution had succeeded, and Bibles had begun trickling back into the country. However, our elderly friend had emphasized great discretion when traveling with God’s Word, even though technically the Bible no longer carried the label contraband.
Although nervous to bring Bibles into a country that had been through so much recent turbulence, we joyfully accepted the invitation of our beloved friends Serban and Anca to visit Romania.
After the guards entered our cabin, my companions’ attention shifted from the guards to me. We exchanged quick, nervous glances.
“Pass-a-ports?” asked the young guards.
“Yes, of course,” we said cooperatively.
Upon close examination of each face and its accompanying passport photo, the guards nodded. Rising to hand them mine, I squirmed and prayed silently, Lord, couldn’t we get this over with? I heard the guards whisper in hushed Romanian, and I forced my gaze away from the hidden Bibles.
Then it happened. Pointing to our overhead luggage, they randomly chose . . . the duffle bag. In that very bag, sixty Romanian New Testaments lay beneath three of Dennis’s t-shirts and a pair of black sweats. While Dennis smiled cooperatively, the hefty duffle bag came down from the rack. We silently prayed. The more jovial of the two guards began a conversation about American TV, which had only been on the air for three months or so in Romania. He mentioned Southfork Ranch from the old series Dallas, and we all laughed and nodded, pretending everything was fine.
Slowly Dennis lifted each t-shirt from the bag, then reached for the black sweats—the very last item on top of the Bibles. Gradually lowering myself again to the cabin’s bench, I prepared for their impending discovery. You have not given me the spirit of fear, Lord. Save us! I prayed silently with a quaking heart.
That moment felt like forever as we held our breath. We kept silent. The Bibles sat in the suitcase. And we waited.
Suddenly spinning around to face me, the Southfork Ranch guard began to speak. I stood, anticipating certain inquisition about the Bibles. But instead I heard, “And from where do you live, pretty one?”
I smiled despite my panic and said, “Dallas.”
His eyes widened, and, turning to his companion-in-arms, he joyfully repeated, “Dallas!”
They threw their heads back and laughed before he turned back to me, “And what do you do in Dallas, you?” he asked in his lilting accent.
My mind raced to come up with a translatable word that captured the combination of seminary student, receptionist, and Bible teacher. I said the first English word that came to mind:
“I’m a secretary.”
He looked amused and delighted. Baffled, I stood silently, while the guard examined my face and hair. As my friends laughed, I realized some marvelous joke was playing out that I didn’t understand.
Obviously, I had never watched the TV series Dallas.
Continuing to laugh and joke in Romanian, the guards turned, exiting the door of our little cabin. But one peeked back in and grinned, saying, “Goodbye, Dallas!”
We stood in reverential silence.
They thought they had seen an actual Dallas-the-tv-show-type secretary. I felt my face warming as I realized their meaning. “Lord,” I whispered in mortification, “They saw me as one of those kinds of women!”
But then it hit me: God had used my pretend reputation as a distraction.
He had answered our prayers.
And they never saw the Bibles.
Photo by Jennifer Latuperisa-Andresen on Unsplash
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