It was 1977 and that year started with a time of persecution for me in Romania. For three weeks in February I was taken to the secret police headquarters for interrogation every day. My friend Silvia was also interrogated. We were taken by the police every morning, put in different rooms and questioned by different officers every hour, twelve hours a day, with no food. Our only crime was that we had helped those who were persecuted for their faith.

Now the interrogation was over. Mr Ionescu, the commander of the secret police in Iaşi, took pleasure in announcing that our trial was scheduled for March. “You will be sentenced to life in the psychiatric prison in Răducăneni,” he told me, “and Silvia will get 22 years in a political prison.” He told me this as if it had been decided by the court, but the judges were after all simply pawns of the secret police.

“Let’s hope they put us in the same cell and let me have my Bible and you your guitar,” I joked with Silvia.
“Then it will be like a holiday camp!” she replied.

Silvia took her guitar with her everywhere she went.

But there was something very important I had to do before I went to prison. I had to deliver a letter to Ceauşescu from Ulf Oldenburg, the Danish missionary who had led me to the Lord. He had helped me many times spiritually and materially and had also helped many Christians all over the country. He was a great lover of Israel.

I remember one evening when I was on a mission trip in the mountains with Ulf. My brother, Teodor, and my friends, Silvia and Rodica and others, were with us too. We had meetings with persecuted believers, and every evening Ulf taught from the Bible. One evening he told us, “I travel all over the world and wherever I go my call is to stir love for Israel and prayer for the peace of Jerusalem. I have a word from the Lord for President Ceauşescu.”

“What is it?” I asked.

He got out a letter and read part of it to us: “To His Excellency, President Nicolae Ceauşescu. I have visited Romania many times and I love your beautiful country. In the Bible it is written that God told Abraham, the father of the Jewish people: ‘I will bless those who bless you, and whoever curses you I will curse’ (Genesis 12:3). The word the Lord gave me for you is this: If you will be a friend to Israel, you and your country will be blessed; but if you turn against Israel, you and your country will be cursed. Sincerely, Dr Ulf Oldenburg.”

We knelt down as a group and Ulf prayed, “Lord, show us how to get this letter to the president.”

As we were praying I heard the Lord say, Genovieva, you take it!

“I will deliver it,” I said.

Ulf always made a copy of important papers. So he gave me two copies of the letter for the president. The letter was hand written and on the envelopes he wrote: His Excellency, President Ceauşescu of Romania. He put his return address in Denmark in the top left-hand corner.

When I arrived home with my brother Teodor, we put the two envelopes on the kitchen table. We planned to hide them in the bookcase. But as my mother was serving us a cup of quince tea, to my horror she spilt some on one of the envelopes. I quickly rescued it and got a towel and dried it.

“This envelope is not fit for the president any more,” Teodor said. “We’ll have to use the other one. But the copy of the letter inside is perfectly dry.”

“Let’s put the letter in another envelope,” I said. “I will address it myself.”

“We can keep Ulf’s envelope as a souvenir and use it for that shopping list that Maria gave us the other day.”

I put the envelope in the bookcase. Little did I know how important it would become!

Maria was a nun from the Army of the Lord, a precious friend who was greatly persecuted for her faith. Some years before, I had escaped from the secret police by disguising myself in her clothes.

“I need to go to Bucharest to deliver the letter,” I told Silvia the following afternoon. “Tudorică cannot take time off from his studies… Do you want to come with me? There is a night train at eleven o’clock.”

“Yes, I’ll come,” she said. “Let’s stay with Nuţa Damian.”

I took Ulf’s two letters from the bookcase and hid them in my bag. That evening we took the night train to Bucharest. I heard the locomotive whistle as it pulled out of the station. On the way we shared a loaf of bread, some cheese and tomatoes, some apples and a bottle of water. Then we made ourselves as comfortable as possible on the hard wooden benches.

Through the window I could see the stars. I love You Lord, I prayed. Please help us on this journey! Soon I fell asleep.

The next morning Nuţa welcomed us warmly and gave us breakfast of boiled eggs, challah bread, jam and coffee. Her apartment was on the third floor and had two bedrooms, a living room and a small kitchen. She was a woman of prayer in her fifties and I had stayed with her before when I tried to enter university in Bucharest.

“Pray for us,” I said. “We have an important letter to deliver to the president.”

Later, when Nuţa had gone to work, I told Silvia, “We should hide one of the letters in this apartment, but no one should know.”

We looked around for a suitable hiding place in the living room.

“Let’s hide the letter with my handwriting on the envelope in the armchair,” I suggested. “I’ll keep the one addressed by Ulf in my bag.”

We turned the armchair upside down and hid the letter inside the lining, underneath the cushion. We made sure that we put it back in place, so that no one would notice it had been moved.

“Let me wash your skirt and blouse so that you look fresh for tomorrow,” Silvia offered. “You need to rest today. It is a big day for you tomorrow. I will make sure the blouse is nicely ironed for you in the morning.”

“Thank you, Silvia!” She put the blouse and skirt to dry in the bathroom overnight.

We had a good night’s sleep that night.

In the morning Silvia ironed my blouse, while I washed my hair. Nuţa dried and combed it nicely for me.

“May the Lord bless you and protect you today!” she prayed. Then she left for the day.

As I put on my skirt I realized it was still quite wet.

“I’ll have to wear it anyway!” I said. “It is the only one I have.”

Silvia stayed at the apartment and I arranged with her to meet at a café in the city center. I then took a taxi into town.

“Drop me at the presidential palace,” I told the driver.

In less than half an hour I arrived, my heart beating fast. I went straight to the entrance which was heavily guarded by police. The letter was in my bag which I carried with the strap around my neck.

“Who are you?” an officer asked.

“Sfatcu Genovieva,” I replied, showing my identification. “I have a very important letter for the president that could save his life.”

I heard the guards talk to each other on their walkie-talkies.

“She says she has information that the president’s life is in danger,” I heard.

They let me through and I repeated my story at each checkpoint. I put all my feeling into it every time. It must have sounded to them that I had knowledge of an assassination plot against the president.

“I will bless those who bless you, and whoever curses you I will curse” (Genesis 12:3).

I waited for a few minutes at each door while they talked together.

“If the president does not get this letter in time, his life could be in danger,” I said.

After waiting for about an hour and being taken from door to door, a lady escorted me upstairs to a very luxurious office. On the door it read: Consilier Predescu.

The door opened and I went in. It was a large office with plush couches and soft thick Persian carpets on the floor. There were long red velvet curtains at the windows. Mr Predescu rose to meet me. He was a short man in his sixties. He kissed my hand and invited me to sit down on a couch in front of his desk.

“I am the president’s personal assistant,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

I sat down on the soft white leather couch. I was aware that my skirt was still wet.

“I have an important letter for President Ceauşescu from a Danish citizen,” I said. “The president’s life depends on it.”

“What is the letter about?” Mr Predescu asked.

“It is private,” I replied.

“I will pass it on to the president for you.”

“The person who wrote it requested that it be delivered personally.”

“I am the president’s closest advisor. You cannot get closer to him than me.”

“I understand… But I have to deliver it personally,” I said.

Mr Predescu changed his tone. “Would you like a snack?” he asked.

“Yes, please!”

He rang a bell and a waitress brought cups of coffee and vanilla cream cake.

“What a beautiful smile you have!” he exclaimed. “You are like a spring flower and brought joy into my office!”

I took the opportunity to share the gospel with him.

“I didn’t always have the smile,” I said. “It is only since I gave my life to Jesus… The Bible says that ‘God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.’ Since I believed in Him, I was filled with joy… You can believe in Him too…”

He listened to me attentively.

“Now what is this letter you have for the president?” he asked again as we finished our coffee and cake.

“The gentleman who sent it knows that it is a matter of life or death,” I replied.

“Give it to me,” he said. “I will pass it on to the president.”

“I promised I would give it to him personally.”

“The president is not here,” he said.

“Then I will come back when he is in town.”

“Here is my card,” he said. “Call me when you come so that I can tell the guards to let you in.”

The same lady came and escorted me to the door. Once outside, I noticed that I was closely followed by the secret police.

What are they up to? I wondered. Do they want to kill me or just steal the letter?

(to be continued)