(編按: Gwen Shaw出版過一系列小書，這些小書有她自己的故事及重要的屬靈操練和教導，簡短有力，往後會陸續刊載精華內文！)
I was a Runaway (我曾是浪子) By Gwen Shaw(石桂林)
譯者：Tommy Cheng
偷偷地,我打包好了行李,仔細聆聽我房門外的腳步聲. 當時才17歲的我又高又瘦，有一對藍眼睛和一頭金黃色的長髮。街上的男孩子看到我都會喊我: “嗨!金髮美女!＂我也很喜歡這稱呼。
當我曉得周圍沒有人的時候,我把行李箱放出窗外，把它藏到我們家農場的水溝裡，農場位於尼加拉瀑布半島, 接近加拿大安大略省的聖凱薩琳。
隔天, 我躡手躡足地走出家門，往我放行李箱的方向去。1941年的秋天, 那是一個溫暖的午後。曾經有片刻我想回頭看，想著：會不會再見到我的父母和兩個弟弟呢? 但是，已經不下千次, 我再一次故意的剛硬自己的心。
應該已超過了千次，我開始敵擋神時才七歲。我記得當時發生的事情：我那時坐在校舍裡的風琴旁，正彈奏”小雨點”這首曲子。突然門外的一位玩伴進來,以一種討厭的口氣問我說:「你為什麼不彈聖詩? 」
我知道她是什麼意思。我那虔誠的父母非常嚴格，一般人能做的事情我們都不能做。我真討厭與別人不同! 我在那一刻就以超出我年齡該有的能耐, 許下了宣言, “我絕不跟隨神! 我的父母可以逼我, 但我的心會走我自己的路.”
帶著這種私密的藐視，我依舊聽著家人的禱告。但在教會中依舊封閉著我的心。當我成為一個青少年時, 人人都會說：“那個女孩真不好搞。” 我卻會感到很驕傲! 一層又一層, 我在心裡建築了一個堅硬的殼。
常常父親會給我一種無法形容、卻很細心的眼神 ── 有著愛, 關懷和嚴厲。他說他愛我，可是我覺得他根本沒有做到，因為他給這麼多的限制。
有一天，我們在城裡買東西，我們停下來聽一場街頭佈道。爸爸聽了非常感動，很快的我們家就成了這團體的一份子，常常在那廣場的樓上聚會。
當我滿十五歲的那一年，爸爸宣佈我們要加入服事，我卻又為自己的心加上了一層硬殼。 “我不要！”我這樣回答。
“桂林,” 爸爸答：「只要妳還住在我們家一天, 坐在我們的桌子前吃飯, 你就得聽我的！」
我回給他敵意的臉色，你沒有辦法使我屈服, 我對我的心說：你可以把我的身體囚禁起來，但不能禁止我的意念。
我真是討厭這個佈道服事! “請不要讓我和你們走在一塊,”我請求：“我的朋友們可能會看到我。爸爸, 拜託你了!”
我父親是一個很有信念的人，但他並不是一個暴君。“好吧, 桂林,”他如此說： “但當開始唱歌的時候, 你就要進來。”
於是我當時會一直待在外面，直到快要開始的前一分鐘，然後我會左看看右看看， 確定整個街上沒有人看見我跑進去。我總是坐在最後一排,常常就自己活在自己的世界裡, 完全不在乎到底前面發生什麼事。
我不斷地忽視台前的呼召，我知道是特別針對我。有一晚，一位執事鼓起了勇氣問我：“桂林, 你得救了嗎?”
“是。“ 我用很不屑的語調，然後走開了。他知道我說謊，但我不在乎。我只想叫他不要來煩我。
我就這樣忍受了一年半，像個奴隸在家中，只透露我的秘密給我的好朋友多娜。有一天我對她說：「我們離家出走吧! 我們不用讓我們父母來指使我們. 我們已經十七歲了, 可以靠自己過活了。」
一開始她很震驚，但當我繼續說服她, 多娜就答應了。那天晚上我們偷偷收拾好行李，第二天早晨在市中心會面, 搭上了往多倫多的公車。
在我朋友的衣櫃裡中，我已經先留了一張紙條, 要留給我的父母。上面寫說我要離開家去結婚了。我說了謊, 認為他們應該不會找我，從那時我就換了新的名字。我也把我全部照片都銷毀，免得我的父母拿給警察使用。
在多倫多我們找到了一個房間，也找到了工作, 開始了我們自由的生活。
後來我得知舅舅堅持要我爸爸通知警察，爸爸卻拒絕, 他說：”我正向神禱告， 我知道神會把她帶回來的。”但兩天後, 我的舅舅很生氣地自己去找警察, 他用了我剩下的底片做了一些快照，非常諷刺的,我們當時住的房間正好在警察局對面,但他們從未找到我們。
多娜和我開始享受我們的生活。沒有人會告訴我們幾點要睡覺，沒有人會禁止我們去跳舞, 或去看電影, 或喝酒, 或約會！喔，那真是快樂，喜歡什麼就做什麼! 這才是人生!
但真的如此嗎?過了快六個月自由自在的日子，我開始注意到心裡面越來越沉重， 我甚至害怕去承認這件事，但不管我怎樣忽略這感覺,它已大到我無法控制。
是想家了嗎? 是嗎? 不, 不會，不是的!
絕對不會是上帝想得到我的心。我已經把祂關在心門外了！所以再一次,我的心再次剛硬。
但是, 不知道怎麼回事，生活不再那麼有趣了。多娜也是如此，有一天她對我說, “我受夠了! 我要回家看爸爸和媽媽了！”
“小孩子!” 我嘲笑她。“就是離不開媽媽.”
但多娜收拾好了她的行李，她要離開的時候,我抓住了她的手：“你千萬不要告訴他們我在那裡，你得答應我!”她就答應了！
我告訴多娜我會搬到另一個地方，她離開的那天，我又感到一股巨大的孤獨,痛苦,及空虛。但我拒絕讓自己軟化，我關上自己的心門已經超過了十年了,有可能現在就動搖嗎? 決不!
我事後才得知，在多娜回家後沒多久,爸爸就去探視她的父母,想知道他們會不會有我們的消息。當多娜打開門的那一刻，她整個人驚慌地看著我爸爸。因為他站在門前，眼淚慢慢地流下兩旁的臉頰：「告訴我桂林在那好嗎?”他懇求著。
“我沒辦法。”多娜說：「我已經答應桂林了！」。
“喔,拜託你。” 爸爸喃喃著說。
看到爸爸如此心碎，多娜無法再忍受：“好吧！我沒有她新的地址，但我會告訴你她在那裡工作。”
爸爸馬上開車前往多倫多, 到了我工作的地方, 當時已快要下班了。神安排的時間是精確到點。通常這個時間我早已離開回家了，但那天, 一個朋友請我幫他去領他的禮服,並帶回給他.正當我們在讚賞這套禮服的時候，門打開了。
我往門外看，正納悶是誰在那裡，──然後我整個人呆住了，因為爸爸那寬闊的肩膀進入眼簾，他臉色非常沉重。
一開始我不敢正眼看他的眼睛，我以為會看到責備。我等著他的手指著我說：“你這罪人!”但我卻只看見的他壓倒性的愛，我的眼裡已經滿是淚水，看不清他的臉龐。
爸爸張開他的雙臂, 對我哭喊著：「女兒啊！」
我衝進他的雙臂，“爸爸,” 我哭著說：“對不起!” 我們就站在那兒哭泣著。
“沒關係了, 女兒, 什麼都不必說了！”他回答, 把我摟進他懷中,並拍了拍我的背，就好像我又再一次成為他的小小孩。
“女兒,” 他又說：“媽媽和我都愛你！我們不會強迫你回家，但是, 喔，我們很期待你能再和我們團聚.”
當我聽著他說話的時候, 一種很罕見的溫柔切進了我石化的心：“謝謝你, 爸爸,” 我軟化了：“我會回家的, 但不是現在，再給我一點時間想想。”
那個冬天過去，我重新得到的自由生活變得越來越不是這麼一回事，我開始意識到，這種隨心所欲的自由並沒有帶給我我所尋求的快樂。
我依舊記得那個漆黑的復活節早晨，當我和多娜去了她天主教的教堂去禱告，最後一場彌撒已經結束了，最後一個人也離開了，當我們走在教堂中, 全處都是寂靜無聲的。我獨自跪下禱告：「上帝啊請祢……,」 我才開始一開口求神,眼淚就開始掉，我覺得自己不潔淨，不管是生活或是和神都好不協調, “原諒我!” 我的禱告就這樣! 眼淚愈掉愈快，我在那裡待了很久，一直到我朋友從兩側的走道細語提醒我，我才起身。
我們靜靜地離開教堂，一走到門外，太陽閃爍的照耀著，神那時對著我說：“桂林, 我已經原諒你了，去吧，不要再犯罪了!”我轉向我的朋友說：「我要回家了！」
那是一個喜樂的重逢，這個家庭喜悅看到他們的浪子回頭，教會裡的人也對我很好。我又重新參加禮拜，這一次是和我的家人一起，也同時帶著一顆因理想幻滅而破碎的心，因著我父親的愛, 加上許多的禱告,還有最重要的，一位愛我的天父，我的心又甦醒過來。
人生中的第一次, 我認真聆聽著福音，我那冰凍的心也溶解了！
有一天，在一個營會中, 我完全把自己交託給主。原來是神把我那石頭般的心拿走了。並且換給我一顆肉心，一顆柔軟的心。
後來我去了聖經學院, 預備自己來服事基督，後來我去了中國成為一位宣教士。
從那一天我跪下來對主說：＂對不起！”，到現在已過了六十個年頭，現在回過頭來看我每個服事神的日子，我可以說，我已經找到了使我滿足的，因為我跟隨著一個夢想，當年我離家出走時並沒有找到，我卻在神的裡面找到了！
(閱讀原文:)
I was a Runaway By Gwen Shaw
Furtively, I finished packing, listening for steps outside my bedroom door. I was 17 years old, tall, slim, blue-eyed and had long blonde hair. Boys passing me on the street would call out to me, “Hi, Blondie!” I liked that.
When I knew no one was around, I dropped my suitcase out the window, then hid it in a ditch on our farm in the Niagara Falls peninsula, near St. Catharine’s, Ontario, Canada.
The next day I crept out of the house and headed for my suitcase. It was a warm afternoon in early fall, 1941. For a moment I wanted to look back. Would I ever see my parents and two younger brothers again? But, for the thousandth time, I deliberately hardened my heart.
It must have been the thousandth time, for I began to rebel against God when I was only seven. I remember the incident. I was sitting in the schoolhouse playing “Little Raindrops” on the organ. Through the open door a playmate called with an ugly lilt, “Why don’t you play a hymn?”
I knew what she meant. My religious parents were so strict, we couldn’t do many things that others did. I hated being different! So with energy far beyond my meager life span, I vowed right then, “I’m not going to follow God! My parents can force me, but in my heart I’ll go my own way”’
With a secret scorn, I listened to family prayers. In church I closed my heart. By the time I was a teenager, everyone said, “That little Bergman girl is a hard one.” And I was proud of it! Layer upon layer, I built up a hard shell around my heart.
Often Dad scrutinized me with an inexpressible look — love, concern, sternness. He said he loved me, but I felt he certainly didn’t act like it, with all of his restrictions.
One day while shopping in town, we stopped at a religious street service. Dad was impressed by what he heard, and soon we became members of this group that met in an upstairs mission hall.
By that time I was 15. When Dad announced that we would attend the mission, I added another layer of crust on my heart. “I’m not going,” I said.
“Gwen,” Dad replied, “as long as you’re sitting at my table and living in my house, you’ll do as I say.”
I flashed him a look of near-hatred. You’ll not make me bend, I said in my heart. You can imprison my body, but not my will.
How I hated that little mission. “Please don’t make me walk in with the family,” I pleaded. “My friends might see me. Oh please, Dad.”
Dad was a man of convictions, but he was not a tyrant. “All right, Gwen,” he said. “But when the singing begins, come right in.”
I’d remain outside until the last minute; then I would look up and down the street to make sure no one saw me dart inside. I always sat in the back and enclosed myself in a world of imagination, often unaware of a thing that went on.
I ignored altar calls repeatedly, which I knew were directed at me. One evening a deacon mustered his courage to ask, “Gwen, are you saved?”
“Yes,” I almost hissed, and walked out. He knew that I lied. But I didn’t care. It was a good way to tell him to leave me alone.
For a year and a half I chafed under my “slavery” at home, confiding in my girlfriend, Dawna. One day I said, “Let’s run away! We don’t have to let our parents boss us. We’re 17 and old enough to run our own lives.”
At first she was shocked; but when I pressed her, Dawna finally agreed. That night we secretly packed our suitcases, met in town the next morning and boarded a bus for Toronto.
On my friend’s dresser I had left a note to be delivered to my parents, saying I was running away to get married. I lied, thinking they would not look for me, since I would have a new name. I had also destroyed my photos, lest my parents should give them to the police for identification.
In Toronto we found a room, got work, and began our life of freedom.
Later I learned that my uncle insisted that Dad notify the police. Dad refused, saying, “I’m praying. I know God will bring her back.” But after two days my uncle angrily went to the police himself, with snapshots made of negatives I had left behind. Ironically, our room was across the street from a police station, but they never found us.
Dawna and I began to live it up. No one told us what time to go to bed; no one forbade us to dance, or attend movies, or drink, or date. Oh, the joy of doing what we pleased! This was the life!
But was it? After nearly six months of unlimited freedom, I became aware of a growing weight in my heart. I feared to even admit it was there; but it grew larger than my determination to ignore it.
Was it homesickness? Was it. . . no, no, NO. It couldn’t be a reaching after God. I had shut Him out. So again, I hardened my heart.
Yet, somehow, I wasn’t having as much fun. Neither was Dawna. One day she said, “I’m fed up! I’m going home to see my Mom and Dad.”
“Baby!” I sneered. “Can’t get along without Mama.”
But Dawna packed her suitcase. As she was leaving I grabbed her arm. “Don’t you dare tell where I am. Promise!” And she promised.
I told Dawna I would move to another address. That day she left, I felt again the sickening impact of loneliness, unhappiness, emptiness. But I refused to let myself soften. After more than ten years of hardening my heart, would I weaken now? Never!
Soon after Dawna returned home, I learned later, Dad went to visit her parents to see if they had any information about us. When Dawna opened the door, she stared in dismay. There Dad stood, tears trickling down his lined cheeks. “Tell me where Gwen is,” he begged.
“I can’t,” Dawna said; “I promised.”
“Oh, please,” he groaned.
Dawna could not bear to see his heartbreak. “Well, I don’t have her new address, but I’ll tell you where she works.”
Immediately Dad drove to Toronto, arriving at my place of work at closing time. God had timed it to the minute. Ordinarily I would have left for home; but a friend asked me to pick up a dress and bring it to her. As we were admiring the dress, the door opened.
I looked up, curious to see who was there. Then I froze. Dad’s broad shoulders drooped; his face was drawn.
At first I was afraid to look into his eyes; I thought I would see judgment. I waited for him to point his finger at me, and say, “You sinner!” But all I saw was his overwhelming love. Then his face veiled as tears welled in my eyes.
Dad spread his arms and cried, “Daughter.”
I dashed into his arms. “Dad,” I sobbed, “I’m sorry!” We stood there and wept.
“It’s all right, Daughter, we won’t talk about it any more,” he answered, holding me in his arms and patting my back as though I was his little girl one more time.
“Daughter,” he continued, “Mother and I love you. We will not force you to come home; but, oh, how we long to have you with us again.”
As I listened to him, a rare tenderness edged around my stony heart. “Thank you, Dad,” I said softly. “I’ll come home, but not now. Give me a little time to think about it.”
The winter passed. I grew more and more disillusioned with my newly acquired freedom. I found that the liberty to do my own thing did not give me the happiness or fulfillment that I was seeking.
I still remember that dark Easter morning when Dawna and I went to her Catholic church to pray. The last Mass was over; the last person was gone; the church was silent as we walked inside. I knelt alone to pray. “Please God,” I began, and the tears began to fall. I felt so unclean, so out of harmony with life and God, “Forgive me!” That was all! The tears fell faster and faster. I stayed there a long time, until I heard my friend whisper across the aisles to me. I arose from my knees.
We quietly walked out of the church. As we stepped outside the door, the sun was shining and God was saying, “Gwen, I’ve forgiven you. Go and sin no more!” I turned to my friend and said, “I’m going home.”
It was a joyful reunion. The family rejoiced to see their prodigal return. The folks at church were so kind. Once more I sat in the services, this time with my family, and with a heart broken by disillusionment, by my father’s love and prayers, and above all, by a loving heavenly Father. For the first time in my life I really listened to the Gospel, and my frozen heart melted.
One day at a camp meeting, I completely surrendered myself to the Lord. It was then God took away my heart of stone and gave me a tender heart.
I went to Bible school to prepare for Christian service. Later I went to China as a missionary.
It is now more than 60 years since that wonderful day when I knelt and said, “I’m sorry!” As I look back over the years I’ve spent in serving God, I can say, I looked for fulfillment. I followed a dream. I didn’t find it by running away, but I FOUND IT IN GOD.
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