Clinging to his father's hand...

I read this story today, and it touched my heart, so I wanted to share it with you. This is a quote from Linda Dillow's The Blessing Book, but the story is actually taken from Streams in the Desert by Mrs. Charles E. Cowman.

The story is told of a group of botanists who searched the Alps for rare specimens of flowers. On a precipitous ledge in a steep canyon they spied a rare flower they had been searching many years to find. The botanists offered a passing shepherd boy a large sum of money if he would allow them to tie a lifeline around his waist, lower him down to where the flower was, and retrieve it.

The boy considered all he could do with the money, but then peered down into the deep cavern, and shook his head "no." He desperately wanted the money, but the cliff was unbelievably dangerous and these men were strangers -- how could he trust them with his life? Again and again he looked at the canyon and the prized money but continued to shake his head. But then he had an idea ... a good idea. He ran across the mountainside, entered a house, and emerged with a strong, kindly man -- his father. Clinging to his father's hand, he raced back to the group of men waiting at the edge of the cliff, and said, "You may tie the lifeline under my arms now. I will go down into the canyon -- if you let my father hold the rope."

Tied to his father, the boy felt safe. And tied to your Father, you are safe!

Roller Coasters, Part 2

I see that in the spring I wrote that my life was feeling like a roller coaster, and I was hoping to get off the ride for a while. That makes me smile now – I never did get to take a break and ride the ferris wheel or the teacups ride. Although the craziness seems to have calmed down a bit (temporarily?), life here often still feels like I’m riding the front car, white-knuckled, in a free fall. But slowly, bit by bit, I’m learning to make peace with the roller coaster, and I’m starting to remember the love I once had for the crazy things.

Our flight in October to the Kids For the Kingdom conference in Nairobi went through Dubai, so those of us from Russia and India spent a few days in Dubai at the end of our trip. One of the things we did was a desert safari, and some of us took a wild ride in a 4x4 on the dunes in the desert. It was incredibly fun, and I realized later that it was a lot like a roller coaster, but with the unexpected fun of the unpredictability of not being on a rail, so we had no idea where we were going next. And having seen a bumper and other mysterious car parts lying in the sand as we flew by, I realized that not all of the rides were as successful as had been hoped. And that added another little taste of excitement to the ride – would our car parts (or worse) be lying in the dunes for the next day’s adventurers to see?

Since we were in a closed car, I managed to hold back the screams that are usually required on a roller coaster ride, but I did laugh a lot, and remembered the joy of going to Cedar Point with my youth group and having the time of my life on the roller coasters. I remembered the joy of the free fall, feeling the thrill with the taste of danger, and yet fully trusting that the designers knew what they were doing, and that I would be safe.

And so in life as well, I’m reclaiming the joy of riding the roller coaster. I might have white knuckles now and then during a free fall, and I might be a little scared by seeing the bumpers and other debris of less successful rides, but I’m also going to be enjoying the fun and unpredictability of the ride, while fully trusting that the Designer of this particular roller coaster ride knows what He’s doing, and that I’m safe. And if you’re in the car with me, look out, because I’ll probably not be holding back the screams!!

Pause ...

These words are from Amy Carmichael, a missionary to India from 1895 till 1951, from her book Thou Givest -- They Gather.

Pause is the word the Greek translation of the Bible uses for selah. I like to meditate upon the way it occurs for the first time in the Psalms:

Many there be which say of my soul,
"There is no help for him in God."
Selah.
But Thou, O Lord, art my helper, my Glory
and the lifter of my head!
(Psalm 3:2, Septuagint).

We have all been subjected to the wearying voices which flood the very atmosphere around us, complaining, "There is no help..."

These voices murmur and mutter the same words, no matter what the challenge or difficulty may be. "There is no help..."

But because you and I are in God, we need not listen:

"There is no help...," they repeat.

Pause.

"But you, O Lord, are my helper!"

No matter to us what the voices say. Their words bring only weariness -- but with His word comes peace and strength and courage to go on.

This is true, not only with the difficult outward circumstances of our lives, but with inward temptations too. We are tempted. And at once we recall past failures in this same area. This causes us to feel weak and start to fall. The voices within are saying, "There is no help..."

Even these inner struggles may be turned to peace. How? Instead of trying to answer the many voices of the enemy, or arguing with them (we can never win this type of argument), we must do something else.

We pause.

We look away from self, away from the enemy. We look up!

"There is no help..."

"But you, O Lord...!"

Some believe that selah signifies also a sudden pealing-forth of musical instruments. The pause, then, was for praise.

Then let us fill all of our pauses with praise! Let us give all that lies within us, not to the voices of the enemy, but to pure praise, to pure loving adoration, and to worship from a grateful heart -- a heart that is trained to look up.

Echoes of Mercy, Whispers of Love

One day during my first few months of living in Russia, one of my teammates and I had a very special experience. We were invited to dinner by Ludmilla, one of our interpreters, and had the privilege of meeting her mother and brother. This family had the most amazing stories to tell – we could have spent days listening to them. We were in the city of Volgograd, formerly called Stalingrad. If you’re a history buff, you might recognize the name Stalingrad. It was the site of an important battle of World War II, often called a turning point of the war. Actually, in Russia it’s usually called THE turning point of the war. The battle lasted almost seven months, and pretty much destroyed the city. There were around 2 million casualties during the battle. Ludmilla’s family lived in Stalingrad, and during the battle they fled the city along with many others. When the battle finally ended they returned, to try to rebuild their home and their lives. They have many stories of God’s amazing grace and provision during those times.

After the war stories, they told us about life in the Soviet Union during the days of the underground church. Among other stories, they told us how Ludmilla’s brother, Misha, had fallen away from his faith, and had moved to a different city where he had a job. They prayed for him every day, and one day they received a letter from him that told his family that he had gone to the river outside the city with a certain friend. The family knew that this man that was mentioned was a pastor in the underground church. By this roundabout way, they guessed that Misha had come back to his faith, and had been baptized. It wasn’t safe for him to tell his family outright, either on the phone or by letter, so he told his news through hints and nuances, and hoped that his family would understand.

As I said, we could have listened to their stories for days. It was fascinating to hear Ludmilla’s memories, and her perspective of the war from a child’s eyes, and Misha’s stories of the underground church. But what I loved the most was listening to Ludmilla’s mother speak, and watching her face – she had such a look of peace and gentleness in her eyes as she spoke of God’s grace and mercy through the terrible circumstances that they had lived through. It was amazing to me to see those eyes full of love, that held no bitterness from the difficulties of life, or against those that had wronged her and her family. It was clear that her faith was not just something she had chosen to believe – it was a faith that her heart, not just her mind, had held onto through all the hard times of her life. She knew that the same God that brought her and her family through the war and through the difficult days was the same God who was still holding her hand today. Her faith was in a person, not in a church or a religion.

What I haven’t mentioned is that all of these stories were told through Ludmilla, our interpreter. Her mother and brother spoke no English, and Pat and I spoke almost no Russian. We were entirely dependent upon the knowledge and kindness of Ludmilla to communicate with each other. We sat together at the table – so different from each other. Except for Ludmilla, we had no common language. Our cultural differences were evident. We were citizens of countries that until recently were bitter enemies. Our life experiences were radically different. And yet …

When it was time for us to go, Ludmilla’s mother had a request to make. She asked if we could all sing a hymn together. Pat and I looked at each other, and protested – but we can’t. We don’t speak Russian, and you don’t speak English. We don’t know your hymns, and you don’t know ours. But she insisted – we could sing in English, and they would sing in Russian. Ludmilla made a few suggestions of hymns that we might know, and sure enough, we did know some of the same hymns. And we ended our day by singing together, in English and in Russian: “Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine. Oh what a foretaste of glory divine…” I still get goosebumps thinking about it. I believe that we truly did have a little foretaste of glory divine that evening, as we sang, praising our Savior together, without need for an interpreter. We were speaking the same language at last.

Since that day, I’ve been able to study the Russian language. If I could meet with this family again today, I’d be able to speak to them without an interpreter. I might not understand all their words or get all the nuances, but I could get by, and we could understand each other. But I’m not sure that any communication we could have now could ever match those moments we had together, when we put aside all those differences, and sang together, in true communion.

There are so many things in this life that separate us from others: language barriers, cultural differences, radically different life experiences, miscommunications, misunderstandings, lack of compassion, selfishness, hurt feelings, broken relationships… One day in heaven all of these differences won’t stand in the way – relationships will be as they should be. I can hardly wait for that day. But wouldn’t it be nice if those differences could mean a little less here on earth too? It’s my prayer that I can have a few more foretastes of glory divine here and now, and not just look forward to the far away future.

The Choice

Here are some words from Max Lucado, another of my favorite authors, from his book When God Whispers Your Name, from a chapter called "The Choice":

" It's quiet. It's early. My coffee is hot. The sky is still black. The world is still asleep. The day is coming.

In a few moments the day will arrive. It will roar down the track with the rising of the sun. The stillness of the dawn will be exchanged for the noise of the day. The calm of solitude will be replaced by the pounding pace of the human race. The refuge of the early morning will be invaded by decisions to be made and deadlines to be met.

For the next twelve hours I will be exposed to the day's demands. It is now that I must make a choice. Because of Calvary I'm free to choose. And so I choose.

I choose love...

No occasion justifies hatred; no injustice warrants bitterness. I choose love. Today I will love God and what God loves.

I choose joy...

I will invite my God to be the God of circumstance. I will refuse the temptation to be cynical ... the tool of the lazy thinker. I will refuse to see people as anything less than human beings, created by God. I will refuse to see any problem as anything less than an opportunity to see God.

I choose peace...

I will live forgiven. I will forgive so that I may live.

I choose patience...

I will overlook the inconveniences of the world..."

I love this reminder that my life doesn't have to be lived as only a reaction to the annoyances and frustrations that happen to me during the course of the day. Before my day begins, I can make a choice. "And so I choose."

Dina

Today is Dina’s birthday -- she would have been 19 years old today. She only lived in this world for nine years, but the impact her life made on those around her is still being felt today. Dina was the beloved daughter of dear friends of mine, and their first child. She was born with a disease that left her physically and mentally handicapped, and isolated from much of the world. When her mother would take her out for walks, or to play, they never met other children with handicaps. She longed to meet other mothers in similar circumstances, to ask for advice, to share experiences, to support each other. One day she finally met another mother of a handicapped child, and asked her why she never saw handicapped children in public. She was told, “Oh, no, you take your child out at night, when it’s getting dark, so no one sees her.” In this way Dina’s family was initiated into the fellowship of families with handicapped children – with an admonition that they should be feeling shame and embarrassment. But Dina’s family chose not to follow this advice. They loved their daughter, and weren’t embarrassed by her, no matter what society told them they should be feeling. So they kept looking, and eventually befriended other similar-minded parents, and they proved to be a source of support for each other.

One of the parents in this aupport group, a doctor named Yevgennia, was a Christian. She shared her faith with Dina’s parents, and recommended that they start reading the Bible to find answers to their questions and their search for meaning to their lives. And so in 1993, when Dina was 3, her mother saved up her money and bought a Bible. She was working outside the home, as most women in Russia/Ukraine did, and her monthly salary was 120 rubles. She spent 45 rubles, more than 1/3 of her monthly salary, to buy a Bible. No one gave her any advice on where to start reading, and so she began at the logical place to start -- the beginning of the Old Testament. There was so much that she didn’t understand, and so much that scared her and even horrified her. Where was the God of love that she had heard about? Where were the stories of Jesus? But her thirst for God was great, and her need for answers, and she kept reading and trying to understand. At the same time that she was searching, her husband was also reading the Bible – a tiny edition that someone had given him; but he didn’t let his wife know. About this time the family moved from the Crimea to southern Russia, and left behind the support group that had meant so much to them. But soon they met a family with a lot of love to share, who had begun adopting a large number of children, and they invited them to attend a Bible study that met at their home in a nearby town. Through the Bible study and the ministry of a group of German missionaries, Dina’s mom finally understood, found what she was searching for, and gave her heart to Jesus. At the time she was pregnant with their second child, and wanted to be baptized while she was still pregnant. Her new pastor encouraged her to wait a bit, and she was glad she did, because only one month after their son Andrei was born, her husband also became a believer, and they were baptized together. And God started changing their hearts to not only reach out to others with emotional support, but to reach out with His life-changing love.

Dina and her family lived in a small village. Again, her parents refused to hide her away, and again started searching for families in similar circumstances. Everyone in the village knew them, and knew Dina. A small group from the church met in their home, and some from the village attended as well. Dina’s father went to the children’s clinic in the nearby larger city, and convinced the nurse that worked there to give him the names and addresses of five families that they could contact, and they started trying to reach out to them. When Dina was six years old, the local psychiatric hospital opened a children’s ward, and many handicapped children received treatment there. Dina’s parents met with the head doctor and received permission to visit. Dina’s mom started going regularly to visit with the children and staff, and feed the kids, and give whatever help she could. And one thing that no one could understand – why was this woman reaching out to them, helping them, and asking for nothing in return?

Towards the end of Dina’s life, she struggled more and more. She was in a lot of pain, and would often bang her head to try to relieve the pain. She was in a coma for several days. When she was in pain, which was often, she cried a lot. She rarely slept through the night. But one night in December she slept through the night. And the next day, which was to be her last day on the earth, she was the happiest she had been in a long time – maybe the happiest she had ever been. She smiled and laughed a lot during the day – it was an amazing difference to those who knew her. And that day, for different reasons, many people came by to visit, and all that knew her remarked on how different she was – that she was so happy. Dina’s mother believes that somehow she knew that she was going to meet Jesus that night. And that night Dina died in her sleep, after a short life filled with a lot of pain, but also filled with a lot of love.

Many people came to Dina’s funeral. That might not be so surprising in America, but in this culture it was amazing. A lot of people knew Dina, which was surprising in itself, because by rights in this culture she should have been hidden away, and only the family and close friends should have known her. And because of the way God had changed her family’s hearts through their love for Dina, they had reached out to so many people in love, and these people came to the funeral as well.

The small group kept meeting at Dina’s family’s home, and had many questions about God – why had He allowed this to happen, does God love us, where is Dina now, why was her last day on earth so different, etc. And after the family moved to the city, the small group continued to meet, and eventually grew into a church – I think it’s the only church in the village. Dina’s family continued to reach out to the kids at the psych hospital, and the ministry grew larger and larger as others got involved. I’ve been to the hospital, and have seen the children’s faces light up as Dina’s mother walks into the room, and they all rush over to hug her and tell her they love her. And on the very day of Dina’s funeral, a doctor persuaded them to come with him to visit a family with another handicapped child. Maybe he was trying to distract them from their grief; maybe he sensed that they would find kindred spirits in the family he was introducing them to; whatever his reason – I doubt that he knew that he was being used by God. He took them to visit the family of a little girl named Fariza, whose birthday was the day of Dina’s death, and who looked so much like Dina that even Andre, Dina’s 4 year-old brother, was amazed at their similarity. When Natasha walked into the room, Fariza was excited and happy and responded to her like she rarely responded to anyone, and Fariza’s mom was surprised at her reaction. This was the beginning of a friendship that has lasted ten years so far, and in some ways has been the cornerstone of a commitment to reaching out to those in need, to those that God brings into their lives.

By the time Dina was nine years old, her presence in her family had changed them greatly. Her needs and their lack of experience had led them to search for others who could help, and in the process their hearts were changed so that they were not only looking for help, but were reaching out to help others. Her needs put them in touch with the doctor that pointed them in the right direction on their life-changing search for truth, for meaning, and for God. I know that God could have used many other means to draw this family to Him, but I love the fact that he used this little handicapped girl as the way He called them into His family. Dina’s life taught her family that all life is precious, and shouldn’t be hidden away. She taught them that sometimes you love even when you might not get anything back in return. And she taught them that sometimes the love you get back in return is more amazing than anything you might have expected.

Happy Birthday, Dina. I'm looking forward to meeting you in heaven one day, sweetheart.

No Comment, #2

The Moscow Times » Issue 4151
Court Upholds Ban on Female Train Drivers
22 May 2009
By Alexandra Odynova

The Supreme Court on Thursday rejected a St. Petersburg woman's appeal to drive metro trains, one of the hundreds of jobs women are prohibited from holding under Russian law. The court upheld its earlier decision to reject a complaint by law student Anna Klevets, 22, who filed a discrimination suit after being turned down for a job as an assistant metro operator with the St. Petersburg metro in November because of her gender, her lawyer, Yelena Pleshko, told The Moscow Times. Pleshko said she had not yet received in writing the court's justification for Thursday's ruling. A court spokesman confirmed the decision but said he could provide no further details. Klevets was unavailable for comment Thursday, but she told RIA-Novosti that she plans to pursue the case further.

The case has drawn attention to a section of the Labor Code -- dating back to Soviet times -- listing 460 jobs deemed too dangerous or physically demanding for women. While the Russian Constitution guarantees equal employment opportunity for men and women, Article 253 of the Labor Code states that women should not perform "hard physical" labor, jobs "with harmful or dangerous labor conditions or work underground except for nonphysical jobs or sanitary and consumer services." In 2000, then-President Vladimir Putin signed off on the most recent list of jobs that women are forbidden from holding, including firefighter, chimney sweep, miner and blasting crew member. Seeking steady employment during turbulent economic times, Klevets applied for the job with the St. Petersburg metro in November because she could not find a job in law, said Pleshko, her lawyer.

After she was turned down because of her gender, she filed the discrimination suit with St. Petersburg's Leninsky District Court, asking for 100,000 rubles ($2,800) in moral damages and monetary compensation equivalent to the salary she would have earned as a metro operator. After the court rejected the lawsuit, she appealed to the Supreme Court, which in March upheld the lower court's ruling and dismissed Klevets' subsequent appeal Thursday.

Representatives of the Health and Social Development Ministry, which was listed as a defendant in Klevets' lawsuit, have insisted that the rules preventing the plaintiff from operating a metro train are merely aimed at protecting women. Valery Koshev, who represented the ministry in the case, told Interfax that the exclusion of women from working as metro operators is "reasonable." "As for women, the slightest possibility of risk, for a woman herself or other people, must be excluded," he said. Women are not barred from operating vehicles in other areas of public transportation. Female drivers of buses, trams and trolleys are common in Russia. Moscow metro spokeswoman Svetlana Tsaryova said the prohibition of female metro operators is a somewhat obsolete rule. "The ban on women driving trains is a standard established in the Soviet Union," Tsaryova told The Moscow Times on Thursday. "Since then, the working conditions have changed, and women can now work in modern trains." In fact, a year ago the Moscow metro was having trouble finding enough metro operators, with only about 20 percent of applicants healthy enough to drive the trains, Tsaryova said. "We were even planning to appeal to authorities to allow us to hire women," she said.

But the Moscow metro has been flooded with job applicants since the global financial crisis hit Russia in the fall, Tsaryova said. "At the moment, we don't have any staff problems," she said. "There is even a line of people willing to work at the metro. "The average monthly salary of a Moscow metro operator runs between 55,000 rubles ($1,700) and 70,000 rubles ($2,200), while an assistant operator earns about 28,000 rubles ($900). As for Klevets, she has found a solution to her employment troubles: The law firm representing her has hired her as a paralegal, Pleshko said.

No Women Allowed
A sampling of jobs women are barred from holding:
Chimney sweep
Blast crew member
Firefighter
Steelworker
Slaughterhouse floor worker
Freight handler
Oil well worker
Diver Train operator
Blacksmith
Source: Labor Code