Quotes from Corrie Ten Boom

Your love in me is stronger than the hatred.

You say we could lose our lives for this child. I would consider that the greatest honor that could come to my family.

A religion that is small enough for our understanding would not be big enough for our needs.

Discernment is God's call to intercession, never to faultfinding.

It is not on our forgiveness any more than on our goodness that the world's healing hinges, but His. When He tells us to love our enemies, He gives, along with the command, the love itself.

Some knowledge is too heavy for children. When you are older and stronger, you can bear it. For now you must trust me to carry it for you. And I was satisfied. More than satisfied--wonderfully at peace. There were answers to mmy hard questions--for now, I was content to leave them in my father's keeping.

Love is the strongest force in the world.

The Gestapo chief leaned forward. I'd like to send you home, old fellow," he said. "I'll take your word that you won't cause any more trouble." I could not see father's face, only the erect carriage of his shoulders and the halo of white hair above them. But I heard his answer. "If I go home today," he said evenly and clearly, "tomorrow I will open my door again to any man in need who knocks.

And so I discovered that it is not on our own forgiveness any more than on our own goodness that the world's healing hinges, but on His. When he tells us to love our enemies, He gives, along with the command, the love itself.

Forgiveness is an act of the will, and the will can function regardless of the temperature of the heart" "It is not my ability, but my response to God's ability that counts." "Let God's promises shine on your problems." "Worry is a cycle of inefficient thoughts whirling around a center of fear.

The blacker the night around us grew, the brighter and truer and more beautiful burned the word of God.

My little hobby. Book Collecting. And yet, old friends, books do not age as you and I do. They will speak still when we are gone, to generations we will never see. Yes, the books must survive. -Bulldog

The real sin lay in thinking that any power to help and transform came from me. Of course it was not my wholeness, but Christ's that made the difference.

The measure of a life, after all, is not its duration, but its donation.

We must tell people what we have learned here. We must tell them that there is no pit so deep that He is not deeper still. They will listen to us, Corrie, because we have been here.

Because of something she heard in school, Corrie asked her father what "sex sin" was while the two of them were riding on a train together. The father asked the little girl to carry his bag off the train. When she admitted that she could not do so, he said he would not be much of a father to expect this of her. The load was too heavy. This was the case, he said, with some knowledge. She needed to trust her father to give her knowledge at the right time.

I know that the experiences of our lives, when we let God use them, become the mysterious and perfect preparation for the work. He will give us to do.

Every experience God gives us, every person He puts in our lives is the perfect preparation for a future that only He can see.

Whatever in our life is hardest to bear, love can transform into beauty.

Thank you," Betsie went on serenely, "for the fleas and for-" The fleas! This was too much. "Betsie, 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 Betsie was wrong.

And yet, old friend, books do not age as you and I do. They will speak still when we are gone, to generations we will never see. Yes, the books must survive.

God has plans—not problems—for our lives.

Life in Ravensbruck took place on two separate levels, mutually impossible. One, the observable, external life, grew every day more horrible. The other, the life we lived with God, grew daily better, truth upon truth, glory upon glory.

My life is but a weaving, between my God and me, I do not choose the colors, He worketh steadily, Oftimes He weaveth sorrow, and I in foolish pride, Forget He sees the upper, and I the under side. Not till the loom is silent, and shuttles cease to fly, Will God unroll the canvas and explain the reason why. The dark threads are as needful in the skillful Weaver's hand, As the threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned. (Anonymous)