Jeana Kendrick - Romania

God’s Faithfulness
by Jeana Kendrick
(A condensed excerpt from Memoirs of a Bible Smuggler)

Our first trip as Door of Hope International missionaries and Bible smugglers occurred in the ’80s during the Cold War. My husband, Jeff, and I were traveling in a pickup camper with secret compartments filled with Bibles. As we approached Romania, the towns looked bleaker, and the roads grew worse.

 

We double-checked that nothing incriminating was visible in the cab or camper. Jeff and I planned to slip through customs like ordinary tourists. Discovery of the Bibles could entail smuggling charges and confiscation of the vehicle. Every summer, Romanian border guards confiscated about twenty-five vehicles with Bibles.

 

I panicked about twenty minutes before we reached the border. It never occurred to me I would be frightened. My hands trembled. Desperation churned like spoiled milk in my stomach. Shaken, I prayed for peace as each kilometer brought us closer. I glanced across at Jeff. “I’m scared. Will you pray with me?”

 

He grasped my hand. “In the name of Jesus, Lord, we’re asking You to remove Jeana’s fear. Fill her with Your Holy Spirit right now to do the work You’ve called her to do.”

 

I thought of the scripture, “For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them,” (Matt. 18:20). God’s peace filled me.

 

We crossed into Romania. A line of cars, one-quarter mile long, awaited customs. Guards toting rifles were posted along the route, some pointing to their stomachs and mouths, asking for food in a universal language. I passed out chocolate bars and bananas, receiving smiles and thanks from the young soldiers.

 

Jeff steered into a lane for Westerners, with only a few cars. An officer took our passports, and for hours the customs officials and guards sought to intimidate us with their scrutiny, watching us from different angles, walking around our vehicle in silent speculation. Then, an officer ordered, “Get out. Open the back!”

 

Jeff opened the camper door, and the man studied us carefully at close range. “Do you have any guns, Bibles, or pornography?” Communists feared these three items the most and seldom failed to ask this question.

 

I waved toward several maps, magazines, and books we’d previously arranged about the camper in anticipation of his query. “There are our books.”

 

He pointed to a wooden bench. “Set everything out here!” He opened every suitcase and examined each article of clothing. Inside the camper, men knocked on walls, measured spaces, disassembled beds and tables, repeatedly pounding on cabinets, walls, and floors in search of contraband.

 

Outside, I chatted with their supervisor about places to visit while Jeff tried to steer the customs officers away from the hidden Bibles in the camper. One man measuring the vehicle’s interior pointed at two of the hidden compartments. “There’s a secret compartment here and here.”

 

God’s calm never left me. We were carrying God’s Word to His people, and He would ensure it reached them. The responsibility rested on His shoulders, not mine. We were merely the instruments He’d chosen. Silently, my prayers flew heavenward: Father, this is Your Word, for Your people—have Your way. It’s up to You.

 

The supervisor glanced from me to the insistent officer. He shook his head, determining we didn’t look or act like smugglers, and ordered the men out of the camper. Praise the Lord for

 

His mighty hand of deliverance. Throughout the next decade, God continued to open doors for us miraculously.

 

Later, I learned, the guards were eager to tear up the vehicles because they received a promotion if contraband was discovered. But, if they tore up the vehicle and found nothing, their supervisor risked a demotion. Thus, his hesitation when we didn’t fit the smugglers’ profile.