“A World War Two Miracle”
From
A Thousand Shall Fall by Susi Hasel Mundy
pgs.
50-52
The
following story is one of many amazing stories found in
the book A Thousand Shall Fall by Susi Hasel Mundy, a story
that takes place during World War II from the perspective of a
Seventh-day Adventist family whose father, Franz, has been drafted
and sent into the war.
With
Friday approaching, something else began to weigh heavily on Franz's
mind.
“Dear
Lord,” he whispered fearfully through dry lips, “You know I
treasure your Sabbath. It's important to You, and because it's
important to You, it's important to me. Up to now, its been pretty
easy for me to keep Your day by trading work. But now we're at the
front, and the rules have changed. Please help me.
And
week by week, help came.
“The
troops are exhausted,” the Hauptmann [German term for “Captain”]
suddenly announced that first Friday. “We'll have a rest day
tomorrow.”
The
next Friday heavy downpours bogged the Army down in mud. . . . As
the weeks went by, Franz noticed that God arranged events so that his
Sabbath hours were protected. All the way to the very end of the
war—except for one period of final hectic retreat when he lost
track of time—Franz kept every Sabbath.
Farther
and farther east the Pioneers [Franz's Company] pushed. ...the men
were on foot. Yet carrying their guns and field packs, they often
covered 30 miles a day. . . .
The
Pioneers weren't used to prolonged marching, and the exertion finally
began to take its toll. As men fell by the wayside suffering from
heat stroke [and blistered feet, they would be left to their fate].
The company had to move on.
Some
men developed such blisters on their feet that they could not
tolerate boots any longer. They'd tug them off and limp along
barefoot for a few miles til their bleeding feet could carry them no
longer. … The lucky ones became prisoners of war. But most of them
were killed outright by the vengeful Russians.
Franz,
too, was exhausted. After a few days his socks were in shreds, and
huge blisters soon covered his feet. ... Finally, he took one of
his dirty undershirts, tore it into strips and wrapped them around
his feet before pulling his boots back on. It was no help. The
blisters burst open and became infected. Franz was barely able to
drag himself along until [they] made camp for the night. He was
running a fever and lay moaning on his mat. . . .
...Willi
[stopped by and] removed his friend's boots. When he saw the
fist-sized festering wounds, he groaned.
“Franz,
there is a little stream not to far from here. Lean on me, and I will
help you get there. It will give you some relief if you can cool your
feet.”
With
his arm around Willi's shoulder, Franz hobbled the few yards to the
water. By the time he reached the creek, his feet had swollen to
twice their size. When he stuck his tortured limbs into the murky,
polluted water, he did feel relief.
“I
can't move,” he groaned. “I'm too exhausted.”
“OK”,
said Willi. “Just stay here for a while. I'll bring your things.
All you need is a good rest.”
I
need more than that, Franz thought. My body is worn out and
burning with fever. My feet are throbbing with infection. I need
days, Willi. Days of rest. But it's not possible. There's nothing
more I can do. Tomorrow I'll be left behind like the others. I knew
life in the army would be dangerous, but I never thought I would
succumb to infection.
He
removed his feet from the water, gingerly dried them. Too worn out to
follow his regular routine of Bible reading, he took out his Bible to
read just a text before prayer. It fell open to Psalms 118:17: “I
will not die but live, and proclaim what the Lord has done” (NIV).
Stunned,
he wrapped himself up in his gray army blanket. Then, lying there on
the damp, foreign soil, his body shaking with fever, Franz prayed.
“Dear
Lord, you know that my life is committed to You. When I left home, I
felt assured that You would bring me back safely to my family. Now
You have given me another promise. But here I am, sick and unable to
continue. Unless You help me, I am lost. I know that You are a
promise-keeping God. I commit myself into Your hands.”
Finally,
Franz dropped off.
Wake
up call at 3:15 a.m. Groggy, Franz rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.
His headache and the shaking were gone. Well, I've had a good
rest. If I can get my feet into my boots, maybe I can give it another
try.
He sat up, pulled his feet from under the gray blanket and looked at
them. In the dim light they shone whitely.
“Wait a minute,” he muttered, blinking and squinting at them.
“That can't be.”
He reached out his hand and gingerly felt them with his fingers. Then
he brushed at them harder and harder.
They're healed. The hair tingled on his scalp. My feet are
completely healed. Not just covered with thick fresh scabs, but with
completely new, unbroken skin.
Shaking his head in wonder, he pulled on his bloody socks, stepped
into his boots, and marched stoutly over to wish an astonished Willi
a good morning. For the remaining years of the war, Franz never again
had any trouble with his feet.
