Ans’s thoughts swirled while her regrets piled higher and higher. Had she also disappointed God? Was He punishing her for walking away from Him? Ans had rediscovered her faith and had worked to serve Him by saving people, and now she was here, slowly dying in prison. And who would ever know what had happened to Ans de Vries? It would be Bernandina Kamp who had lived and died in Vught Prison.

As the rain turned to thick, slushy snow that soaked through Ans’s shoes, despair like she’d never known before filled every inch of her. She began to cry as she lay shivering on her bunk one night, unable to stop. If You’re there, Lord —if You can even hear me —please, please help me.

The barracks was silent except for the soft breathing of the women around her. God seemed far away. And then a shaft of silvery moonlight suddenly shone down on Ans’s bunk from one of the high, narrow windows. She looked up and saw the winter clouds slowly thinning like frost melting from window glass to reveal a glorious full moon. It filled the wooden window frame, bathing the room with light. She remembered marveling at a moon like this one with her grandmother a few nights before she died. Oma had compared her life to the phases of the moon, growing fuller and brighter with purpose, then gradually diminishing until it disappeared in darkness. “But watch the sky, darling Ans. The moon isn’t gone at all. It shines eternally, like our life in Christ.” Oma had accepted her death as God’s will without questions or bitterness, even though Ans had not. “We can trust His promise of eternal life,” Oma had said. “It’s more wonderful than we can even imagine.”

“. . . He watches over me in such a way that without the will of my heavenly Father, not a hair can fall from my head . . .”

If that was true, then God must want Ans to be here, in Vught Prison. Not as a punishment, but for reasons only He could see, just as He’d had reasons for taking Oma to heaven. But what could they possibly be? As the moon bathed the barracks in light, another Scripture sprang to mind. “You are the light of the world. . . . Let your light shine before others . . .”

Ans thought of the women in her barracks and the laundry. What if she tried to help them battle despair the way she’d once helped Eloise? Instead of withdrawing inside herself and wallowing in self-pity, what if Ans reached out to them, offering encouragement and hope? She had worked with the underground because she’d wanted to serve God —and now He’d placed her in this prison. Could she serve Him here with joy? Without bitterness?

“. . . He also assures me of eternal life and makes me sincerely willing and ready, henceforth, to live unto Him. . . .”