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I got grain and other food from a Turk I knew, and so we got to help the many Armenians who had hidden themselves in the basements of a merciful Turk. Many also came down from the mountains where they had been hiding for months. Oh, how they looked miserable! What a joy it was to be in Musch for the 3 ½ months before the Russians took the city and help all these wretched, poor people. We were all often in danger but felt so completely enveloped by God's strong hand. Almost daily, someone was sent off to be killed. It was a difficult time, and yet I would not do without it, being able to help and comfort those unhappy people. Some of our boys from the orphanage came running down to me. The evil governor was dead, and the next one was better, so I could stay in the city with great care and secretly help some of the distressed. On Sundays, I held church service with them in the basements. We closed the doors so that the Turks did not inadvertently enter. It reminded me a lot of the persecutions of the early Christian era.
In mid-February 1916 we had to leave Musch as the Russians approached. We rode for 2 days in deep snow to Bitlis where my last Armenian friends and the children who were rescued were taken from me. I was near despair then, but God kept me up, and I came alone to Diyarbakır with a Turkish gendarme. There I stayed for 3 weeks trying to get my people back, but everything was in vain. From there I came to Aleppo and was there with the Swiss sister Beatrice Rohner who had gathered 400 orphaned Armenian children.
Later I got to my friends Mr. and Mrs. von Dobbeler in Harunje, Cilicia. They had asked to get me there. They managed a large orphanage, and for a year I stayed there, looked after many sick children and had oversight of the sewing room. I could have 50 sick.
There was revival in that time. Many of the children came and confessed their sins and surrendered to the Lord. I got to hold Bible lessons with the older children and the teachers. It was a blessed time, though full of dangers. However, I was so down after everything I had gone through, so I asked to get to come home.
In May 1917 I went home with my little foster son of 1½ years. It was a very difficult journey in wartime through the warring countries, but God guided me in his great grace with a safe hand through everything and home to old Norway and dear friends.
Until 1921 I was home and traveled a lot around for our work, and many new ones were won for the cause.
Then God called me out again. In 1921, I traveled down to Constantinople to help the many thousands of Armenians, most women and children, who had fled their homeland. There I met acquaintances from before, including Garabed who was rescued with us from Musch and who had been through so much.
While working for a few months in Constantinople, I met many women and men who was the only one left of families of 20-30 members. Yes, from a family of 70 people often just a single person was rescued. These refugees lived in small colonies in different parts of the city, and it was heartbreaking to hear their sad life stories. In large rooms, 70 people were crammed together, and in long barracks a multitude of families lived close together, separated only by some sacks. Great hopelessness ruled many of them. Can you imagine?
There, among others, I met a young girl whose one arm had been cut off by the Turks. But in the midst of all this misery, I was
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