I (Tabitha) grew up in Christian home and attended Sunday school and Sunday services with my parents. I am number three in a family of four brothers and sisters.

 

At the age of ten I attended a service with a missionary from Tanzania. She shared about her work amongst children and women. As she was talking, I suddenly sensed a voice  whispering in my ear, “Some day you, Tabitha, will be helping the children in Tanzania.” Immediately, a different voice said, “God does not speak to children.”

 

In my adulthood, I have experienced that when the Lord speaks, it will always be followed by a negative reaction; this way you know that the Lord has spoken. The negative voice comes from our enemy.

 

I clearly remember that I did not dare to share this incident with anyone, not even my best friend, nor my parents. I saved it in my heart, where it remained for many years.

 

Torkild was raised in an ordinary home, where they were christened as infants and confirmed, and that was it. Torkild is the youngest of four brothers and sisters.

 

Torkild and I attended the same school from the first grade. I was madly in love with him when we went to school. He was the funny boy in the school, filled with all kinds of ideas.

 

When I attended the fourth grade I started praying for Torkild, saying, “Dear Lord, if Torkild wants to be my husband some day, you need to make him receive Jesus as his saviour. My mother always taught me that we could ask anything from God, and if the request was for our good, He would answer.

 

As I finished the seventh grade going on to the eighth grade, we had eyes for each other, although we were still very young. I made it very clear to him: if he did not want to be a Christian, our relationship could never become a reality. I was a believer and had decided that my decision was for a lifetime.

 

Torkild became a Christian at the age of 16. Two years later he was baptized in water and we got married at the age of twenty.

 

I had never told Torkild about my calling as a child. Often, when we attended church meetings, especially with missionaries, it was as if something was burning inside of me.

 

I often knelt by my bed, saying, “Lord, if you are serious about my calling, you have to tell Torkild, so that one day he will ask me if I am willing to be a missionary.

 

Several years went by and we had three wonderful children. They attended a private independent school, and we had a successful haulage business. In every way we had a good life in Denmark.

 

Because of very long working hours Torkild never attended prayer meetings, since these were always held on mid-week evenings. But then due to a sudden strike in Denmark, Torkild got a chance to go. That night a very special thing happened, which changed our lives for ever. This meeting was very different from other meetings. Normally, it would start with praise and worship, but that night nobody was singing, nobody was talking.

 

Suddenly, someone stood up and prophesied, “There is someone here tonight, whom the Lord wants to use in ministry. The doors are open and I will prepare everything for you. The work is urgent, and if you are not willing to go, I will have to send somebody else.”

 

Torkild whispered to me, “How are you feeling?” I was unable to answer – but was thinking that it was a good thing we were sitting down, because my legs felt like gel and I sensed they could not carry me.

 

As we drove home that night, we discussed what happened and suddenly I heard the Lord saying, “Now you can tell Torkild about your calling as a little girl.”

 

That night we accepted the call of God.

 

After a few days we decided to go and tell our pastor. He answered, “We have known this for a long time. We just waiting for you to come and tell us.”

 

Then we invited my parents (Tabitha’s) to our house to inform them about our decision. My mother started weeping, and I thought, “Is it really that hard on her..”

 

My mother said to my father, “Do you remember the incident when the children were small?” At that time we had meetings in different people´s living rooms, and one day an unknown preacher came to out house and told my parents, “One day, one of your children will become a missionary.”
My mother had four children and did not know who of them it was for, and she decided to save the words in her heart. Thus, the Lord confirmed my calling through revealing it to my parents ahead of time.

 

That is our Father God, and He works in mysterious ways!

 

We left Denmark on August 6th, 1987.

 

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    [post_content] =>  I den uge, hvor Torkild var af sted på børnekampagne, skete der noget, som rystede os dybt. During the week when Torkild was away something happened that shook us deeply.  
 
Vores tyske venner og naboer, Rosy og Friedhelm, var blevet syge (I husker sikkert, at vi mange gange har skrevet om Friedhelm, som har bygget adskillige kirker sammen med Torkild i store dele af Tanzania). Rosy skrev til os for at høre, hvordan vi havde det, for de havde fået feber og følte sig meget dårlige. Deres tjenestepige havde fået konstateret covid-19 og var meget syg. Tilsyneladende havde hun smittet Rosy og Friedhelm.
 
Jeg foreslog straks, at de skulle søge læge, men Rosy sagde, at Friedhelm var så dårlig, at han ikke ville kunne sidde i en bil for at komme hen til lægen. Det lykkedes at få lægen til at komme hjem til dem. Friedhelm blev indlagt på et missionshospital ca. 150 km fra Arusha, hvor der også arbejder læger fra Vesten.
 
Dagen efter Torkilds hjemkomst ringede Rosy for at fortælle, at Friedhelms tilstand var forværret. Han skulle muligvis flyves til et hospital i Dar es Salaam eller Nairobi. Hun havde glemt deres pas, så Torkild besluttede at hente passene og køre til hospitalet sammen med vores chauffør, Hilary, for at se, hvordan han kunne hjælpe.
 
Lægen havde i mellemtiden snakket med Rosy og frarådet at flytte Friedhelm, da hans tilstand var yderst kritisk. Problemet på de fleste hospitaler i Tanzania er, at man ikke har respiratorer. Det var det, de manglede til Friedhelm.
 
Ved middagstid dagen efter, Torkild var kommet frem til hospitalet, sov Friedhelm stille og fredfyldt ind.
 
Sikke et chok for hans kone, som ikke havde nogen fra familien omkring sig. Hun begyndte straks at ringe til børnene for at fortælle, at deres far var gået bort.
 
Liget skulle flyttes fra hospitalet inden aften samme dag, da de ikke har noget kølehus til opbevaring. Hilary kørte liget i Friedhelms bil, og Torkild tog Rosy med i vo¬res bil. De kørte til et hospital i Arusha, hvor Friedhelm kom på køl. 
 
Derefter blev bilen desinficeret indvendig, og Hilary blev også sprøjtet over med denne væske. Han kom helt våd hjem til mig om aftenen og spurgte: ”Åh, mama, må jeg ikke få et hurtigt bad og låne noget tørt tøj?” 
 
Friedhelm havde tidligere givet udtryk for, at han gerne ville begraves i Tanzania. Han fik sådan en flot begra¬velse – en konge værdig. Han blev begravet ved vores FPCT-kirke i Ngaramtoni; det er den lokale kirke, vi samarbejder med.
 
Han efterlader sig kone og 4 børn. En af sønnerne kom for at deltage i begravelsen.
 

  

 
 
Our German friends and neighbors, Friedhelm and Rosy fell ill (you probably remember that we wrote about Friedhelm many times. He built several churches with the help of Torkild in large parts of Tanzania). Rosy wrote to us to hear how we were doing because they had gotten a temperature and felt bad. Their maid was very ill with covid-19. Seemingly, she had passed it on to Friedhelm and Rosy.
 
I immediately suggested that they saw a doctor, but Rosy said Friedhelm was so sick that he could not sit in a car to get to the doctor. Finally, the doctor instead came to their house. Friedhelm was admitted to a missionary hospital approx. 150 km from Arusha with doctors from the West. 
 
The day after Torkild’s return Rosy called and said that Friedhelm’s condition had worsened. Possibly he would be taken by plane to a hospital in Dar es Salaam or Nairobi. She had forgotten their passports so Torkild decided to take the passports to the hospital with our driver, Hilary to see if he could help.
 
In the meantime, the doctor had talked to Rosy and advised her not to move Friedhelm as his condition was extremely critical. The problem is that most Tanzanian hospitals do not have any respirators. And they needed one for Friedhelm.
 
At noon the following day after Torkild had arrived in the hospital, Friedhelm passed away, quietly and peacefully.
 
It was big a shock to his wife who had no relatives around her. She immediately began calling the children to inform them of their father’s passing. 
 

The body had to be moved from the hospital before evening on the same day, as they have no cooling rooms. Hilary drove the body in Friedhelm’s car and Torkild took Rosy in our car. They drove to a hospital in Arusha where Friedhelm was put in a cooler. 
 
Friedhelm had earlier expressed that he wanted to be buried in Tanzania. He received a truly royal funeral. He was buried at our FPCT church in Ngaramtoni, which is the local church that we work with.
 
He leaves behind his wife and four children. One of the sons came to be a part of the funeral.

 
  

    [post_title] => Et stort tab for os og TanzaniaA big loss for us and for Tanzania
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