But while I was picking my way through the narrow pass between the rocks I saw a little group of zaptiehs coming toward me along the road beyond. I had not expected to meet any one. I screamed before I could stop myself. The zaptiehs heard me and I ran back into the shelter of the rocks and drew out my knife, which I had kept so I might kill myself rather than be stolen again. But I was afraid God would not approve. While the zaptiehs searched the rocks I knelt in a crevice and asked God to tell me what I should do—if He would blame me if I killed myself before the zaptiehs found me. “Dear God, tell me, shall I come now to You or wait until You call?” I asked of Him.
I know He heard me, and I know He answered. For something told me to throw the knife far away—and I did.
That was God’s will, I know, for after awhile He was to lead me into the arms of my mother that I might be with her once again before the Turks killed her.
