He provides food for those who fear him; he remembers his covenant forever.
Psalm 111:5
Psalm 111:5
Darlene Deibler Rose was an American missionary imprisoned in a Japanese POW camp called Kampili (in Indonesia) throughout World War II. The officer in charge of this camp was a Japanese man named Yamaji. For a time, Darlene was taken away from the Kampili camp and placed in solitary confinement in the nearby Kempeitai Prison where she was cruelly interrogated. Her husband, Russell Deibler, died in another POW camp. The following account begins as she looks into a prison courtyard through the bars of her cell. This extract is from her biography, 'Evidence Not Seen'.
The actions of one woman in particular fascinated me. Every time the sentry on duty turned his back to her and marched to the other end of the courtyard, she inched towards a fence covered with Honolulu Creeper. When the guard clicked his heels, turned about, and began to stroll in her direction, she stopped. There he went, and there she went.
"Aha, intrigue. She's going to make contact with someone who's hidden in those vines. Isn't this exciting! Oh, do be careful. With no books to read, I'll watch the drama taking place here before my eyes!" I empathised with her. I wanted her to succeed, and not be caught. Finally, reaching the vine-covered fence, the woman stood very still. The guard clicked his heels and went off again. At that moment, I saw a hand shoot through the tangle of vine. It held a big bunch of bananas. Quickly, she grabbed the bananas, slipped them into the folds of her sarong, and strolled nonchalantly back to join the other women. Nobody knew she had those bananas. But I did - bananas!
I dropped to the floor of my cell. Exhausted from my efforts, I shook all over. Worse still, I began to crave bananas. Everything in me wanted one. I could see them; I could smell them; I could taste them. I got down on my knees and said, "Lord, I'm not asking you for a whole bunch like that woman has. I just want one banana." I looked up and pleaded, "Lord, just one banana."
Then I began to rationalise - how could God possibly get a banana to me through these prison walls? I would never ask the guard. If he helped me and was discovered, it would mean reprisals. I would certainly never ask a favour of the Interrogator or the Brain. There was more chance of the moon falling out of the sky than of one of them bringing me a banana. Then I ran out of people. These three were the only ones. Of course, there was the old Indonesian night watchman. "Don't let it even enter his thinking to bring me a banana. He'd be shot if caught."
I bowed my head again and prayed, "Lord, there's no one here who could get a banana to me. There's no way for you to do it. Please don't think I'm not thankful for the rice porridge. It's just that - well, those bananas look so delicious!"
What I needed to do was link my impotence to God's omnipotence, but I couldn't see how God could get a banana to me through those prison walls.
When the Japanese officers from the ships docked in Macassar Harbour visited the prison, great hardships were inflicted upon the prisoners. We were laughed at, scorned, and insulted. When our cells were opened, we were expected to bow low at a perfect ninety-degree angle. If we didn't perform to their satisfaction, we were struck across with the back of a cane. These were humiliating and desperate experiences.
The morning after the banana drama, I heard the click of officers' leather heels on the concrete walkway. The thought of getting to my feet and having to execute a bow was onerous, to say the least. My weight had dropped during those months in the converted insane asylum, until now I was skin stretched over bones. One nice thing about my streamlined proportions was that the thinner I got, the longer my dress became, so I had more covering at night. I stretched out my hands often and laughed at my bird's claws. The meagre daily rations were not designed for putting on weight. I needed food for strength. I wondered if I could manage to get to my feet and remain upright, but I was determined that when that door opened, they would find me on my feet.
The officers were almost at the door. I reached up, grabbed the window ledge, and pulled myself upright. "Now, Lord," I prayed, "officers are coming. Give me strength to make a proper bow." I heard the guard slip a key into the door; but he had the wrong one and ran back to the office to get the right key. I dropped to the floor to rest, then came to my feet again when I heard his tennis shoe-shod feet moving quickly down the walkway. My legs were trembling, and I clutched the bars of the window to steady myself. "Lord, please help me to bow correctly."
Finally the door opened, and I looked into the smiling face of Mr Yamaji, the Kampili camp commander. This was early July, and it had been so long since I had seen a smiling or a familiar face. I clapped my hands and exclaimed, "Mr Yamaji, it's just like seeing an old friend!"
Tears filled his eyes. He didn't say a word but turned and walked out into the courtyard and began to talk with the two officers who had conducted my interrogations. At roll call in Kampili, I had had to give certain commands in Japanese, but I had made a deliberate effort to learn as little of the Japanese language as possible. It was better not to know it. I couldn't understand what Yamaji was saying but he spoke with them a long time. What had happened to the hauteur and belligerence with which those two always conducted themselves towards me? I could see their heads hanging lower and lower. Perhaps Yamaji spoke to them of my work as a missionary or maybe he shared with them concerning that afternoon in his office after I had learned of Russell's death, when I spoke of Christ, my Saviour, Who gives us love for others - even for our enemies, those who use us badly.
Finally, Mr Yamaji came back to my cell. "You're very ill, aren't you?" he asked sympathetically.
"Yes, sir, Mr Yamaji, I am."
"I'm going back to the camp now. Have you any word for the women?"
The Lord gave me confidence to answer, "Yes, sir, when you go back, please tell them for me that I'm all right. I'm still trusting the Lord. They'll understand what I mean, and I believe you do."
"All right," he replied; then, turning on his heels, he left.
When Mr Yamaji and the Kempeitai officers had gone and the guard had closed the door; it hit me - I didn't bow to those men! "Oh, Lord," I cried, "why didn't you help me remember? They'll come back and beat me. Lord, please, not back to the hearing room again. Not now, Lord. I can't; I just can't."
I heard the guard coming back and knew he was coming for me. Struggling to my feet, I stood ready to go. He opened the door, walked in, and with a sweeping gesture laid at my feet - bananas!
"They're yours," he said, "and they're all from Mr Yamaji."
I sat down in stunned silence and counted them. There were ninety-two bananas!
In all my spiritual experience, I've never known such shame before my Lord. I pushed the bananas into a corner and wept before Him. "Lord, forgive me; I'm so ashamed. I couldn't trust you enough to get even one banana for me. Just look at them - there are almost a hundred."
In the quiet of the shadowed cell, He answered back within my heart: "That's what I delight to do, the exceeding abundant above anything you ask or think." I knew in those moments that nothing is impossible to my God.
The actions of one woman in particular fascinated me. Every time the sentry on duty turned his back to her and marched to the other end of the courtyard, she inched towards a fence covered with Honolulu Creeper. When the guard clicked his heels, turned about, and began to stroll in her direction, she stopped. There he went, and there she went.
"Aha, intrigue. She's going to make contact with someone who's hidden in those vines. Isn't this exciting! Oh, do be careful. With no books to read, I'll watch the drama taking place here before my eyes!" I empathised with her. I wanted her to succeed, and not be caught. Finally, reaching the vine-covered fence, the woman stood very still. The guard clicked his heels and went off again. At that moment, I saw a hand shoot through the tangle of vine. It held a big bunch of bananas. Quickly, she grabbed the bananas, slipped them into the folds of her sarong, and strolled nonchalantly back to join the other women. Nobody knew she had those bananas. But I did - bananas!
I dropped to the floor of my cell. Exhausted from my efforts, I shook all over. Worse still, I began to crave bananas. Everything in me wanted one. I could see them; I could smell them; I could taste them. I got down on my knees and said, "Lord, I'm not asking you for a whole bunch like that woman has. I just want one banana." I looked up and pleaded, "Lord, just one banana."
Then I began to rationalise - how could God possibly get a banana to me through these prison walls? I would never ask the guard. If he helped me and was discovered, it would mean reprisals. I would certainly never ask a favour of the Interrogator or the Brain. There was more chance of the moon falling out of the sky than of one of them bringing me a banana. Then I ran out of people. These three were the only ones. Of course, there was the old Indonesian night watchman. "Don't let it even enter his thinking to bring me a banana. He'd be shot if caught."
I bowed my head again and prayed, "Lord, there's no one here who could get a banana to me. There's no way for you to do it. Please don't think I'm not thankful for the rice porridge. It's just that - well, those bananas look so delicious!"
What I needed to do was link my impotence to God's omnipotence, but I couldn't see how God could get a banana to me through those prison walls.
When the Japanese officers from the ships docked in Macassar Harbour visited the prison, great hardships were inflicted upon the prisoners. We were laughed at, scorned, and insulted. When our cells were opened, we were expected to bow low at a perfect ninety-degree angle. If we didn't perform to their satisfaction, we were struck across with the back of a cane. These were humiliating and desperate experiences.
The morning after the banana drama, I heard the click of officers' leather heels on the concrete walkway. The thought of getting to my feet and having to execute a bow was onerous, to say the least. My weight had dropped during those months in the converted insane asylum, until now I was skin stretched over bones. One nice thing about my streamlined proportions was that the thinner I got, the longer my dress became, so I had more covering at night. I stretched out my hands often and laughed at my bird's claws. The meagre daily rations were not designed for putting on weight. I needed food for strength. I wondered if I could manage to get to my feet and remain upright, but I was determined that when that door opened, they would find me on my feet.
The officers were almost at the door. I reached up, grabbed the window ledge, and pulled myself upright. "Now, Lord," I prayed, "officers are coming. Give me strength to make a proper bow." I heard the guard slip a key into the door; but he had the wrong one and ran back to the office to get the right key. I dropped to the floor to rest, then came to my feet again when I heard his tennis shoe-shod feet moving quickly down the walkway. My legs were trembling, and I clutched the bars of the window to steady myself. "Lord, please help me to bow correctly."
Finally the door opened, and I looked into the smiling face of Mr Yamaji, the Kampili camp commander. This was early July, and it had been so long since I had seen a smiling or a familiar face. I clapped my hands and exclaimed, "Mr Yamaji, it's just like seeing an old friend!"
Tears filled his eyes. He didn't say a word but turned and walked out into the courtyard and began to talk with the two officers who had conducted my interrogations. At roll call in Kampili, I had had to give certain commands in Japanese, but I had made a deliberate effort to learn as little of the Japanese language as possible. It was better not to know it. I couldn't understand what Yamaji was saying but he spoke with them a long time. What had happened to the hauteur and belligerence with which those two always conducted themselves towards me? I could see their heads hanging lower and lower. Perhaps Yamaji spoke to them of my work as a missionary or maybe he shared with them concerning that afternoon in his office after I had learned of Russell's death, when I spoke of Christ, my Saviour, Who gives us love for others - even for our enemies, those who use us badly.
Finally, Mr Yamaji came back to my cell. "You're very ill, aren't you?" he asked sympathetically.
"Yes, sir, Mr Yamaji, I am."
"I'm going back to the camp now. Have you any word for the women?"
The Lord gave me confidence to answer, "Yes, sir, when you go back, please tell them for me that I'm all right. I'm still trusting the Lord. They'll understand what I mean, and I believe you do."
"All right," he replied; then, turning on his heels, he left.
When Mr Yamaji and the Kempeitai officers had gone and the guard had closed the door; it hit me - I didn't bow to those men! "Oh, Lord," I cried, "why didn't you help me remember? They'll come back and beat me. Lord, please, not back to the hearing room again. Not now, Lord. I can't; I just can't."
I heard the guard coming back and knew he was coming for me. Struggling to my feet, I stood ready to go. He opened the door, walked in, and with a sweeping gesture laid at my feet - bananas!
"They're yours," he said, "and they're all from Mr Yamaji."
I sat down in stunned silence and counted them. There were ninety-two bananas!
In all my spiritual experience, I've never known such shame before my Lord. I pushed the bananas into a corner and wept before Him. "Lord, forgive me; I'm so ashamed. I couldn't trust you enough to get even one banana for me. Just look at them - there are almost a hundred."
In the quiet of the shadowed cell, He answered back within my heart: "That's what I delight to do, the exceeding abundant above anything you ask or think." I knew in those moments that nothing is impossible to my God.
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