Diane's Digressions

The Tutors

2011-12-19T23:22:00.000+04:00

This year I've been reading a devotional book called "Jesus Calling." It's unusual in that it's written as if Jesus himself is the author, and when I read it I feel like I'm hearing personally from Jesus. Every now and then one has some extra special meaning to me, and feels as if it's written just for me. Last week there was one of those special ones, and I'd like to share it with you.

When you are plagued by a persistent problem—one that goes on and on—view it as a rich opportunity. An ongoing problem is like a tutor who is always by your side. The learning possibilities are limited only by your willingness to be teachable. In faith, thank Me for your problem. Ask Me to open your eyes and your heart to all that I am accomplishing through this difficulty. Once you have become grateful for a problem, it loses its power to drag you down. On the contrary, your thankful attitude will lift you up into heavenly places with Me. From this perspective, your difficulty can be seen as a slight, temporary distress that is producing for you a transcendent Glory never to cease!

Young, Sarah (2004-10-12). Jesus Calling (p. 369). Thomas Nelson. Kindle Edition.

Wow – what an interesting concept – view your problems as if they are your tutors, always there, ready to teach. If I don't learn, it's my own fault for not being willing to be taught. Of course, that goes against my natural inclination, which is to whine and complain about those problems that plague me, and certainly not to welcome them as dear tutors who are there for my good. I'm an obsessor. I obsess about the fairness of life, and why bad things happen to good people, and why can't we all just get along, and isn't that enough pain for now...

What a fascinating idea – let go of the obsessing and bitterness, and be grateful for the pain – because that hated “tutor” is actually leading me “up into the heavenly places” if I allow it. That ache that won't let go of my heart can actually be the tour guide who brings me right up to the throne of God, who is waiting to wrap His arms around me, and invites me to sit with Him for as long as I like.

And so, faithful tutors, always by my side, what lessons do you have for me today? :)

Epiphanies on the Metro

2011-10-23T13:53:00.001+04:00

Usually I have my "aha!" moments when I first wake up -- when I'm in that lovely state of being half in the dream world and half in the real world. But this time, a few weeks ago, I had an epiphany on a crowded, noisy metro train, headed into the city to meet a friend for coffee. Which just goes to show you -- you don't necessarily need peace and quiet around you to have some peace and quiet within you.

Anyone who reads my blog knows that I've been struggling with the process of forgiving. And I do mean it when I say "process," because it's been a long road -- this path of forgiving. Some days I do better than other days. And that day on the metro, I was trying something new. In an effort to "love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you," I was trying to pray for those I was trying to forgive -- not pray for them for my own sake, for some benefit to me, but really for them. My first efforts a few days earlier were pretty laughable. Even I didn't think I sounded sincere. But that day on the metro, I thought I was getting somewhere. I had decided that, based on their treatment of me and others over a long period of time, they didn't, they couldn't really know what God's love is all about. And so I (who was trying to forgive, but wanted no further relationship with them) prayed that they would see His love, and know His love.

And that's when He whispered to me, on that noisy metro car, and reminded me that I am His hands and feet. How will they know His love, except through people? And if I choose not to forgive, if I withhold relationship, then I'm standing in the way of a demonstration of God's love. And if I'm unwilling to be in relationship with them because I don't want them to think that they were right, because I don't want my willingness to be loving to be used by them as validation of the rightness of their actions, so that they can claim that they were right -- the enemy wins again.

I'm not responsible for their conclusions. I'm not responsible for their reactions. But I am responsible for my own attitude and my own actions. I don't get to be the judge. I don't get to tell them over and over, with or without words, that they were wrong, that they don't know what love is, that they aren't worthy of being in relationship with me.

It's my responsibility to love. That's the bottom line -- love. Love my enemies. Bless my enemies.

It's taken me a long time to share this one, because it's a hard one for me to embrace. It goes against all my natural impulses. I can't say that I've yet fully embraced it, but I'm slowly unclenching my fists. Love is a funny thing. With some it comes so easily, and with others it feels like a battle. But I'm committed to this battle, and I'm hoping for some more epiphanies on the metro -- more whispers of love in the midst of the noisy crowds.

“Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.” 1 Peter 4:8

Belonging, Part 2

2011-08-20T12:45:00.000+04:00

So I'm back with more thoughts on how we belong to each other. Even though one kind friend tried to let me off the hook, I'm convinced that we have a responsibility to each other, if we truly belong to each other. I tend to get overwhelmed by the big picture, by how things should be, and how hopelessly far away our reality is from what it should be. So when I read a beautiful statement like this, that we are all parts of one body, and we all belong to each other, my mind immediately jumps to what this would look like in a perfect world, and how very far away we are from that, and that we can never fix it until we get to heaven. And that may be true, but it's also true that I'm not responsible for fixing the whole body. I'm responsible to do my part, whatever that may be.

And when I let go of the anxiety of needing to make that beautiful picture a reality today, and moved on to the next verses, I found the answers to my questions staring me right in the face. Imagine that. :) My responsibility to those that belong to me is to love them. My friend Larry commented: “…we need to love those who God sets along our path today, and not worry about those who are not on our path.”

If I keep reading in Romans 12 after the part that freaked me out, there are paragraphs of advice on how to live lovingly towards those who belong to us. Use our gifts for the benefit of others. Love sincerely. Put others before ourselves. Share with God's people who are in need. Don't be proud. Live in harmony with one another. And some special words on how to act towards those who may (or may not) belong to me, but who may not like me: Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse. Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Do not take revenge. If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live in peace with everyone. Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

So, the bottom line is, as it always is, love. Not just with words, but with actions. And I don't need to worry about whether they're being loving towards me. My responsibility is to love, no matter what, no matter who, no matter when, no matter where, no matter why -- well, you get the picture.

In the end, it always comes back to love -- "the continuing debt to love one another". A debt that can never be paid.

Called to Belong

2011-08-09T01:04:00.000+04:00

"Called to Belong" -- that's the title of the book I'm writing. Well, so far the title is all I have. But isn't it great? It's from Romans. "And you also are among those who are called to belong to Jesus Christ." I'll be the first to admit it -- belonging is one of my issues. I think it's an issue for many folks as well. The search for home, the search for significance, the search for belonging. It's always there. And so I was tickled to read that I'm actually called by God to belong to His Son. Very cool. I belong. Even better -- belonging is a calling.

But recently I read about another kind of belonging. Actually, I've read it for the past three mornings, hoping that something about it might change, but so far, no luck. "...so in Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others."

I love knowing that I belong to Jesus. But wait -- I belong to all the members of the body of Christ? All of them?? And they belong to me? All of them?? I have some mixed feelings about that part. Yes, I know that we're all a part of the same body. But really -- we belong to each other?

I can think of a lot of people that I'm happy to belong to -- some that have already given me that sense of belonging, who are the friends and family of my heart, and others that I don't know but I'm happy to have an association with, and some that I'm okay with belonging to. But I can think of more than a few people who claim to be members of the body of Christ that I'm not so thrilled to think about belonging to. And more -- I'm not thrilled to have the general public think that I belong to them! For example -- a well-known church who is famous for their hate and their ridiculous viewpoints and activities. I belong to them? They belong to me? Bleah. Or what about the loud-mouthed evangelist-type people who loudly proclaim things about God's judgment on the world, and make me cringe and wonder if we know the same God? Really -- do we belong to each other? I'm not so crazy about that. And what about those who have wounded me deeply along the way, whether intentionally or not, that I'm still working on forgiving? And what about those people who just plain don't like me, who would be happy if they never had to bump into me again ever, and who wonder if they can ask God to give them a place far away from me in heaven? They've made it clear that I don't belong, but ironically, the fact is that I do belong. It would be funny, except for the fact that they also belong to me...

And so I keep reading that verse, hoping that it will mean something different, but so far it still says the same thing. We all belong to each other. And so -- what? Do I have a responsibility to all of these people that belong to me? Do I pray for them? Take care of them? Watch out for them? Disown them? Put them in a timeout??? What does it mean? I'm still thinking that one through. Because in my mind, belonging does involve responsibility of some sort.

It was easier to think of the body of Christ as just a body, with some parts that are more acceptable in public than others. Some parts get a little makeup put on them and go out in the world and the body looks fine. Other parts get hidden away because you don't really want them to be seen. :) And some parts are sick or broken, and maybe you put a cast on them, or perform a little surgery. Or get a haircut. Or shave your legs. Or spray a little perfume to disguise the smelly sweaty armpits. (Oh, I get it. Maybe I'm a Foot, and the people who don't like me are Noses!!)

But if we really do belong to each other, it sounds to me like we have more of a responsibility than just hiding the parts we're embarrassed by, or hiding from the parts that don't like us, and hoping that the nose and the feet don't have to spend too much time together.

I'm still working on this one. What kind of responsibility do I really have to those who belong to me? Any ideas? If I have any more inspiration, you know I'll be sure to share! ;)

Relationship Summary

2011-06-05T14:22:00.000+04:00

The other day I ran across an old bank statement. Along with the regular statement, there was a “Relationship Summary.” They sent it out monthly – a summary of the “relationship” between the bank and the client. There was a section called “Activity Detail,” one called “Settlement Analysis,” and my favorite, “Trend Analysis.”

And it made me think – what if we received Relationship Summaries from our friends? What if we could send out a monthly report card on the relationships? We could see at a glance the monthly activity with this particular friend. How much time did we spend together – in person, on the phone, chatting on Skype or Facebook? The Settlement Analysis might be a little scary – is there anything that needs to be settled between the two of you? Any hurts hanging around? Any thoughtless words spoken that need to be forgiven? And a Trend Analysis – is this a healthy, growing friendship? Are our lives better because of this friendship? Are we encouraging growth, or dragging each other down in the mud? Is it time to move on, or is there still hope for this friendship?

How cool would that be? A monthly opportunity to take a moment and evaluate – how could I be a better friend? Some summaries would be a joy to receive and read, and others would be pretty painful. It could be a growing experience, I’m sure. On the other hand – imagine sitting down and filling out Relationship Summaries for your friends. You’d probably need to keep track. You’d need a list of happy times, fun times, and you’d also need to keep track of times you were wronged. Then you’d sit down at the end of the month with your calculator and see – well, this month was kind of a close call. We had lots of laughs, but she was thoughtless 10 times, said snotty things (intentionally?) 3 times, and although 5 times we did what she wanted to do, we only did what I wanted to do once… I’m not sure I like the Trend of this Relationship. I think I’ll put her on Relationship Probation. If she doesn’t shape up soon, I’ll take my business elsewhere.

As ridiculous as that sounds, and as much as I would never sit down and write out a monthly summary like that, I fear that I’m guilty of doing it in my heart. I don’t mail out the summary, but I do keep a file in the filing cabinet of my soul. And that’s a dangerous filing system, if I can check back and read the wrongs that a friend has done for the last ten years, or more, because maybe there’s no statute of limitations on hurts and pain.

So instead of composing a template for a Relationship Summary to share with you all, I think instead I’ll recommend using the “Love Covers a Multitude of Sins” delete button.

And I’m not saying to pretend that things don’t hurt you. Go ahead and take stock of your relationships, but do it daily. Acknowledge the wrongs, and the pain. But then, instead of filing it away for use later, forgive. It’s what you would want your friends to do for you. And amazingly, it’s what God does for us. He says that He won’t remember our sins. And then He asks us to forgive others, because He’s forgiven us. So much for my new business plan for developing Relationship Summaries. I guess I’ll have to look elsewhere to make my fortune.

So let’s shred those lists of wrongs we’ve been keeping. Love really is a better option than hanging on to the hurt or anger. Try it – just click on the icon for the file of Wrongs of the Past, and hit the delete button!!!

“Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.” 1 Peter 4:8

unwrapping love

2011-05-22T13:04:00.000+04:00

Wow, it’s been a long time since my last blog. When I read it now, it seems like it was a challenge to the enemy of my soul to throw roadblocks on my path to joy, to challenge whether I was really willing to turn away from the “expected joy” and fully plunge into the waves. Not even a week after I wrote that, I remember saying bitterly to a dear friend, “But what if ‘the good received’ isn’t good at all?” And after listening to me and holding my cyber-hand, she loaned me an amazing book – One Thousand Gifts, by Ann Voskamp, who asked the same question.

I’ve never before read a book that seemed to be so directly written to me and my own questions of dealing with loss and pain. In her book Ann shares her own story of woundedness and loss and pain, and her journey towards joy. Her life began to change when she accepted a challenge, a dare, to make a list of a thousand things she loves, to name one thousand gifts, one thousand blessings. And she accepted the challenge on a whim, without realizing that she was taking the first step towards the healing of her wounds. And somehow, as she began to focus on blessings, to intentionally look for the good, she found herself caught up in gratitude, opening up her hands to accept “the good received.” Her life was changed by learning to say “Thank you,” and when she hit the milestone of 1000, she kept going, and never wants to stop. Looking back at the beginning of her list, she says, “This is the beginning and I smile. I can’t believe how I smile. I mean, they are just the common things and maybe I don’t even know they are gifts really until I write them down and that is really what they look like. Gifts He bestows. This writing it down – it is sort of like … unwrapping love.”

Her journey towards joy calls to my heart, and so I’ve accepted the challenge too. I’ve started my own journal of One Thousand Gifts. I’m not very far, but already I’m amazed at how intentionally looking for the good can change my perspective. Already it’s starting to feel like “unwrapping love.”

And by the way, you, my cyber-friends, are on the list. Thanks for the love.

http://www.zondervan.com/Cultures/en-US/Product/ProductDetail.htm?ProdID=com.zondervan.9780310321910&QueryStringSite=Zondervan

catch a wave/ride the bus

2011-03-03T20:17:00.005+03:00

A while ago I started rereading one of my faves, C. S. Lewis’ space trilogy. One of his story lines in the second book, Perelandra, grabbed ahold of my heart, and I just can’t get it out of my mind, so I thought I’d share it with you. In case you never read it, let me tell you that the book is about a man from earth, named Ransom, who is sent on a mysterious mission to another planet. He’s not sure what it is he’s supposed to do, so after arriving he just wanders around, getting to know the planet, waiting until it becomes clear why he’s there. Eventually he realizes that this planet is similar to earth’s Garden of Eden, before the fall. He meets “the Lady,” the Eve of the planet, and they have long conversations about the planet he is from. She has a hard time understanding much that he tells her, because she’s never had any experience with death, or evil, or many other concepts that are a natural part of our world. The part that has so grabbed the attention of my heart is this – when Ransom tried to explain to the Lady that “in our world not all events are pleasing or welcome.” And the Lady of Perelandra, in her innocence of never having sinned, never having been wounded, was completely unable to grasp this concept. Her response was – But how can one wish any of those waves not to reach us which God is rolling towards us?

I love that! I love the thought of being so completely trusting that you can’t even imagine not wanting any one of the “waves” that God is rolling our way. Instead, it feels like I spend way too much time dodging those waves, or worse, trying to convince God that I need some entirely different types of waves. One of my friends, Craig Weidman, recently posted this as his Facebook status: “When I pray am I trying to get God's heart to beat with mine or my heart to beat with his?” As much as I would love to claim otherwise, I’m afraid that I spend too much time trying to get God’s heart to beat with mine. How I would love to be as sweetly innocent as the Lady of Perelandra, unable to even imagine not wanting to accept any wave that God wants to send my way.

In the story, our earthly compatriot Ransom was determined to help the Lady gain an understanding of disappointment, and continued the discussion with her. And she got a glimpse of the concept when she imagined going into the forest in search of one particular fruit, and finding a different kind instead. “One joy was expected and another is given. But this I had never noticed before – that at the very moment of the finding there is in the mind a kind of thrusting back, or a setting aside. The picture of the fruit you have not found is still, for a moment, before you. And if you wished – if it were possible to wish – you could keep it there. You could send your soul after the good you had expected, instead of turning it to the good you had got. You could refuse the real good; you could make the real fruit taste insipid by thinking of the other.”

And now, with a glimpse of the concept of disappointment, she can just barely imagine a person choosing to continue to hunger after what they were looking for, the joy that was expected, instead of being satisfied with the good that was given. I love the words C. S. Lewis uses – he makes me almost shiver, and want to bow my head in shame, as I recognize myself in the Lady’s words: “You could send your soul after the good you had expected, instead of turning it to the good you had got.” How much of my life have I wasted sending my soul after the good I was longing for, instead of embracing the good I received?

And then the Lady understands something vital – that life involves choice. “And this … is the glory and wonder you have made me see; that it is I, I myself, who turn from the good expected to the given good. Out of my own heart I do it. One can conceive of a heart which did not; which clung to the good it had first thought of and turned the good which was given it into no good.” “I thought,” she said, “that I was carried in the will of Him I love, but now I see that I walk with it. I thought that the good things He sent me drew me into them as the waves lift the islands; but now I see that it is I who plunge into them with my own legs and arms, as when we go swimming.”

Life involves choice. Happiness, even joy, is a choice. You have a choice to send your soul after the good you had expected, or turn your soul towards the good you receive. You have a choice to “refuse the real good.” Or you can choose to plunge into the waves that God rolls your way. You can live your life feeling bitter about all the things that you wanted, but didn’t get, or you can choose to accept the good gifts given to you by God. You can choose to live in the moment, instead of in the “if onlys”. Or even better, you can embrace your life with joy. Either way, it’s your choice.

One of my colleagues told a story that perfectly describes my desire to live a life of joyfully embracing the present. A few years back, most of us had to leave Russia every six months for visa registration purposes. It was a little frustrating, because all you had to do was cross the border. If you didn’t want to take the time for a short vacation, it was a fairly annoying day spent leaving the country, and returning. For those of us in Moscow, we had a pretty decent option to take the night train to Tallinn, Estonia, spend the day walking around the old city, and then take the night train back. For those in St. Petersburg, because they lived close to a border, the cheapest option was to take a bus across the border into Estonia, turn around, and come back. And so this family of five put their lives on hold for a day, postponed ministry, skipped school, and took a bus ride to Estonia and back. Probably most of them were thinking about what they could have been doing, or should have been doing, instead of taking a pointless bus ride to follow the letter of the ridiculous visa rules. If I were with them, I’m sure I would have been thinking that way myself. But Rayanne, who is a ray of sunshine, was having the time of her life, coloring in her coloring book, looking out the window, hanging out with her family doing cool stuff – riding a bus into Estonia, for crying out loud!! And partway through the trip, she looked up, beaming with happiness, and said, “Thanks, Dad, for taking me on the bus!!!”

So the next time the wave that God rolls my way feels like a wave of arctic wind, I hope I can snuggle into my emotional wooly scarf and plunge into that wave, and not wish I were instead enjoying the waves of Maui. Next time I’m enjoying a fresh, ripe strawberry, I hope I won’t have one eye open, wishing for that elusive star fruit instead. And when I feel like I’m stuck on a pokey bus, stopping at every little village along the way, instead of thinking of all the other things I could be doing, instead of wishing I were soaring high above the clouds on my way to some exotic locale -- I hope I can follow the example of my hero Rayanne. I want to color in my coloring books (and maybe even color outside the lines a little bit), enjoy the scenery outside the window, and embrace the joy of living in the moment. And then I can look up, with a ray of sunshine in my eyes, and say, “Thanks, Abba, for taking me on the bus..."

Names Again, In Lieu of Resolutions

2011-01-02T01:35:00.002+03:00

I’ve never been big on writing New Year’s resolutions, probably because it always seems so manufactured – set some goals because it’s the right time of the year to set goals? I don’t know – my heart is never really in it, and then it’s so easy to leave them by the wayside after a month, or a week, or maybe less.

However, the first day of a fresh new year does seem an appropriate time for a fresh start. So with that in mind, I think I’ll share with you a real-life resolution I’ve been working on for a while now, that has nothing to do with the new year, but has everything to do with a fresh start, a new habit I’m cultivating.

I’ve written about names a couple of times in this blog, and my fascination with them. Names we give ourselves, names others give us, names God gives us – I’m starting to see the importance of names in our lives, because those names that we carry around can describe who we are or want to be, or who others think we are, or what they want us to be. And sometimes we just don’t realize how much those names can affect us. We all carry around a whole suitcase full of names that we’ve been given, good and bad. You know what they are – the names that make you feel happy, or hopeful, or valued, or ashamed, or angry, or loved, or unlovable, or invisible, or … whatever. And if we keep carrying that suitcase of names around with us, we still believe that those are our names. And if the names are worthy and true of us, that’s great. However, many of us are still lugging around a battered suitcase full of unworthy names – names that we don’t want, but haven’t quite rejected, because maybe deep down we’re still not sure.

And here’s what I’ve finally learned – when I accept a name from someone, I’m giving that person power – I’m letting them tell me who I am. And sometimes that’s ok. Like I’ve mentioned before, in the Russian culture, sweet little names are used all the time. And I love that! And my Russian and non-Russian friends call me all kinds of fun names, and I love being called Sunshine and Snowflake and Little Bunny Rabbit and all kinds of fun things. However, in this imperfect world, there are some not-so-sweet names being thrown around, and I’m finally learning that I don’t have to accept them. I can choose to say No – that’s not who I am. I don’t have to convince the name-givers that they’re wrong, but I also don’t have to give them power by accepting the name they want to give me.

And the key to rejecting the unwanted names -- first you have to know your name. Once you’re sure about your real name(s), it gets easier to weed out the wrong ones. And that’s been my project for a while now – I’m weeding out the harmful, unwanted, untrue names. And I’ll share my secret formula with you, my friends.

For a while now I’ve been practicing a morning meditation, almost a liturgy, as a friend called it. I start out my day by reminding myself of who God is, and what my relationship with Him is, and I make a conscious, daily choice about this relationship – and verbalize it to Him. And a few weeks ago, I decided to add to it, and now I also remind myself who I am. Especially, I remind myself who God says I am. It’s actually a pretty amazing way to start the day. The fun thing is, there are so many different names that God has given me, and so every day it can be different. Some days I might remind myself of a description of myself from the Bible (light, salt, loving, encouraging, merciful, forgiving) and other days I might choose a more personal description. Some days I sing Mercy Me’s song “Beautiful” to myself: “You are treasured, You are sacred, You are His. You’re beautiful!” The possibilities are endless, and every morning I’m reminding myself of some amazing names that I want to claim for myself.

And now, being more confident of who I am, when the name-callers start in on me, it’s easier to recognize the lies, and reject them. I can think of a few very specific examples recently of some names that were thrown my way – one intentional and a couple probably not so intentional – and instead of accepting the names and adding them to the battered suitcase of names I'm dragging around, I was able to reject them, because I know better. I know who I am, and I’m not what they tried to name me.

And even better, I’m starting to dig through that battered suitcase, and I’m sorting through that pile of names I’ve been carrying around, and some of them are being tossed into the dumpster. I'm a pack-rat, but in this case, I'm mercilessly tossing out the trash.

So -- my non-resolution fresh start for 2011 -- I'm being more careful about what names I'll accept, and who I'll accept them from. Because I know my name. In fact, I know a bunch of my names, and I think the list will keep growing as long as I keep living.

From "Come As You Are" by Pocket Full of Rocks

“Louder than the voice that whispers you’re unworthy,

Hear the sound of love,

That tells a different story,

Shattering your darkness and pushing through the lies

How tenderly He calls you,

His arms are open wide..."

Christmas in the luggage

2010-12-19T11:45:00.003+03:00

The other day I saw a comment on a friend’s Facebook wall that just horrified me. I can’t stop thinking about it, and so I’m writing this today in an effort to restore a little peace of mind. Because hey, if there can’t be peace on earth, at least I can have peace in my heart!

In fairness I have to say that I don’t know the person who wrote the comment, and I can only assume that she didn’t really mean it the way it sounded. I’m sure she’s a very nice person, who could be a good friend if I knew her, and if only she doesn’t read this and recognize herself. ;) My friend’s situation that she was commenting on was family coming to Russia to visit for Christmas, and experiencing delays every step of the way. Her comment was this -- her son had just arrived, but without his suitcases, and “all our Christmas is in that luggage!”

Again, in fairness, I assume that she lives somewhere outside the US, and her son was probably bringing presents from family, and special treats that they can’t buy where they live, that make it feel like Christmas at home, and the loss of the luggage will mean that it will be harder to have the traditional Christmas that they’re longing for. Really, I understand. However, my heart just wants to cry when I read – “all our Christmas is in that luggage!” I hope the son that just traveled who knows how many hours to get to them doesn’t read that statement. Is their Christmas really in the luggage?? What’s more important -- the fact that the family is together again, or the loss or delay of presents and treats? Is it more important to spend hours at the mall in the search for the perfect presents, or spending those hours with your family, and giving them the gifts of your time and your love? Is it more important to be sure that your house is decorated perfectly, or to celebrate with your loved ones and make them feel that they are the decorations of the home? Is it more important that your son has arrived safely, or that his suitcases haven’t? And for those of us who live overseas, who try to reproduce an American Christmas in a place far from America – is it more important to preserve those traditions that feel important to you, or to make your loved ones feel like they are the traditions that count?

I’ll admit – maybe I’m reacting so strongly because I’m on the outside looking in. Maybe I’m standing at the outside of a big picture window, looking in at the celebration or lack thereof, and shouting, “Don’t you know what Christmas is all about??? Can’t you see what you already have???” Maybe I’d feel the same if I were her. I hope not. Sometimes I enjoy being single, and sometimes it really stinks. And the entire holiday season can be pretty hard to live through when you’re single, and it’s easy to start feeling sorry for yourself, and wondering why others don’t appreciate what they have, that I don’t have.

I’ll be spending Christmas with friends who love me, and who have made me a part of their family. And I can assure you that if I showed up without presents, they would still welcome me with open arms, and make me feel like all that mattered was that I was there, with or without presents. And that, in a nutshell, is why I’ll be spending Christmas with them. They understand that the spirit of Christmas isn’t about presents or snow or fireplaces or mistletoe or movies or lights that glow – it’s about loving each other the best that we possibly can. And this family will tell me in a million ways that they love me. One of the little boys in this family calls me “his” Aunt Diane, as in – “When is MY Aunt Diane coming?” And that, dear friends, is way better than any present that he could wrap and put under the tree for me.

My prescription for the cynical Facebook commenter is two-part. First, I think she needs to take to heart the excellent words of one of my favorite theologians, Dr. Seuss. (You knew I was headed this way, didn’t you?) Here’s what happened after the Grinch stole all the presents and decorations from the Whos on Christmas Eve:

"Pooh-pooh to the Whos!" he was grinch-ish-ly humming.
"They're finding out now that no Christmas is coming!
"They're just waking up! I know just what they'll do!
"Their mouths will hang open a minute or two
"Then all the Whos down in Who-ville will all cry BOO-HOO!"

"That's a noise," grinned the Grinch,
"That I simply must hear!"
So he paused. And the Grinch put a hand to his ear.
And he did hear a sound rising over the snow.
It started in low. Then it started to grow...

But the sound wasn't sad!
Why, this sound sounded merry!
It couldn't be so!
But it WAS merry! VERY!

He stared down at Who-ville!
The Grinch popped his eyes!
Then he shook!
What he saw was a shocking surprise!

Every Who down in Who-ville, the tall and the small,
Was singing! Without any presents at all!
He HADN'T stopped Christmas from coming!
IT CAME!
Somehow or other, it came just the same!

And the Grinch, with his grinch-feet ice-cold in the snow,
Stood puzzling and puzzling: "How could it be so?
"It came without ribbons! It came without tags!
"It came without packages, boxes or bags!"
And he puzzled three hours, `till his puzzler was sore.
Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before!
"Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store.
"Maybe Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more!"

And Part Two of my prescription, and the most important part – figure out what that “little bit more” is. Hang out at the stable in Bethlehem for a while. Listen to the wise men. Watch the shepherds. Gaze in wonder at the manger. Because the wonder of Christmas for me is this – that baby that was in the manger so many years ago has made his home in my heart.

So whether I’m spending Christmas with family, or friends, or family that are friends, or friends who have become family – it doesn’t matter. I could spend Christmas alone, without any presents or decorations or family, and it would be okay. I’ll be home for Christmas, no matter where I am, because the one whose birthday we are celebrating is home with me -- in my heart.

No luggage needed.

The Cliff

2010-12-02T23:02:00.002+03:00

“Jesus, Son of the Living God, anoint us with fire this day. Let Your Word not shine in our hearts but let it burn. Let there be no division, compromise, or holding back. Separate the mystics from the romantics and goad us to that daredevil leap into the abyss of Your love.” -- Brennan Manning

This is my current favorite inspiring quote – but to me it’s much more than that. When I first read these lines a few months ago, I was stunned – it was like I had been given a key to unlock a door I’ve been trying to open for a while now. About a year or so ago, God started showing me that He’s not who I thought He was. And when I started paying attention, I saw that there was a difference between what I would have said that I believed about what God is like, and what I truly believed inside. Although I would have told you that God is full of love and grace, it turned out that really I saw Him as an overbearing, super-strict, impossible-to-please Father. He started showing me that somehow I thought that He could never love me for myself, and that I had to do things to make Him like me, all the while knowing that I could never do enough to please Him enough, and then feeling even more unworthy, and trying harder to make Him like me. Once I saw this, and realized the trap that I was caught in, I asked Him to show me who He really is. And you know what? He did! He started sending me messages, showing me what He’s like, and what He thinks of me. Sometimes they came in the form of dreams, or music, or music in my dreams – sometimes the messages were awesome, sometimes they were sweet, and sometimes they were downright funny. But usually the message included the fact that He was crazy about me.

Then this summer I had a dream that was so different from the others. I was standing on the edge of a cliff, and God told me to jump. I looked over the edge (it was a really HUGE cliff), and looked again at Him, and He again told me to jump. And He told me that before I could fly, first I had to fall. Well, that was pretty unsettling. I didn’t really know what to do with that. And then a few hours later I was sitting in a church service, watching a video of an interview with a woman who was dying of cancer, and she said that she feels like she’s standing on the edge of a swimming pool, and God is telling her to jump in, and she wants to be able to jump in, shouting, “Catch me, Abba!!” I was even more unsettled by that point, and you can imagine how I felt the next day when I listened to a song that a dear friend posted on Facebook. The song is by Francesca Battistelli, called “I’m Letting Go.” “My heart beats, standing on the edge, but my feet have finally left the ledge… Feels like I’m falling and that’s what it’s like to believe… This is a giant leap of faith…” I was a little freaked out by this point, wondering what huge decision I was going to have to make that would seem like I was jumping off a cliff, or taking a leap of faith. Then a week or so later I went on a road trip, visiting friends and family, and although I could plug my iPod into the stereo, I just couldn’t make it work, so I listened to the radio the whole way, and just surfed the stations as I drove. And seriously, I wish I had counted how many times I heard Steven Curtis Chapman sing “Dive.” “My heart is racing and my knees are weak as I walk to the edge. I know there is no turning back once my feet have left the ledge. And in the rush I hear a voice that’s telling me it’s time to take the leap of faith, so here I go, I’m diving in, I’m going deep, in over my head I want to be…” After maybe the bazillionth time I heard that song, I was caught in construction on I-80, just sitting and unable to drive, and I remember praying, “Okay!!! I get it!! I’ll jump!! Really. I will. But I don’t know how, or when. You’ll have to show me, and when the time comes, I’ll jump. I promise.” Looking back, I can’t see how I didn’t get it. If I look at each of those songs, or remember what the woman in the interview was talking about, it’s hard to believe I could be so blind. But I was still caught in the trap of thinking that I had to do something. I was so sure that this meant that I was facing some decision, where I’d have to take the difficult path, some decision that would be like taking a leap of faith.

And then before too long, there I was on the plane on my way back to Russia, wondering what was going on. It was too much, too real to have been my imagination. So where was my cliff? I was so confused. Do you see what I didn’t see? I wanted a manual – a ten-step plan for how to properly jump off a cliff. I thought I had to do something to show God that I loved Him. (And maybe that would make Him love me back?)

And then I was back in Russia, and got settled in a little bit, and yet was still wondering about this cliff, and when I would have to face the big decision. And there were other cliff messages sent my way – another odd cliff dream, and a couple of pretty funny incidents that served to remind me again of the cliff theme. And one day I looked through the new books that I had brought back with me and “randomly” chose one. I started reading Souvenirs of Silence by Brennan Manning. The subtitle is “Finding Rest in Abba’s Embrace.” That should have given me a clue. :) And at the end of chapter 3, I read those words: “Separate the mystics from the romantics and goad us to that daredevil leap into the abyss of Your love.”

“…the abyss of Your love…” Maybe the cliff wasn’t a big decision – maybe it was an invitation. Can you believe it? I thought He was asking me to do something big for Him, to prove my love for Him. Instead He wanted to prove His love for me. He wanted me to jump into the abyss of His love. All He was asking me to do was to let go…and jump in.

And the thing that makes it extra sweet for me is this – He invited me over and over again, but when I didn’t understand, He didn’t get mad, or frustrated with me. He didn’t yell at me, and tell me to pay attention, or get it right. He didn’t call me names, and leave me feeling stupid. He didn’t give up on me. He just smiled, and invited me again, in another way, and another way, and another way. And there’s no way that I could ever explain how sweet that is to me, and how unprepared I was to experience that. If I could only live my life in that moment – well, it would be a life of joy.

And when I look back on other dreams I’ve been having, and other messages that He’s sent me, I can see the invitation was there as well. I wonder if I keep looking back over the years past – will I see the invitations that I missed, that I didn’t understand? But the important thing is not how many times I missed it in the past – but that I don’t miss it now. So...

“So if you’ll take my hand, we’ll close our eyes and count to three, and take the leap of faith. Come on, let’s go, I’m diving in, I’m going deep, in over my head I want to be…”

Forgive???

2010-11-07T20:39:00.004+03:00

If you're a Facebook friend, a few weeks ago you might have seen a post from me that said that I had prayed that God would teach me how to love people that I was finding it hard to even like, and that in return He had sent another hard-to-love person into my life. I was only partly kidding, and in return I got a little bit of laughter, some empathy, along with assurances that they'll never pray THAT prayer, and some who (not very seriously) wondered if I was talking about them.

But although I was partly kidding, in reality I really have been wondering and praying about that. How can you love someone that's hard to like? How can you love someone that has done things that you've had to forgive, even though they've never apologized or asked for forgiveness, and probably never will?

This spring I was sharing and praying with some friends that have become dear to me, probably because they let me bare my soul to them, and they still liked me afterwards. :) At the time, though, I barely knew them. And the prayer/conversation that started out being about wounds from long ago led inevitably to the point where I had to decide to forgive, or not to forgive. Eventually I agreed that forgiveness was the only way to go, and one of the friends suggested that I pray. I agreed, before realizing that she had said, "...and pray that God will forgive them." And then we all sat there in silence while my heart and soul said, "Excuse me?? What did she say?? Ask God to forgive them??? No, no, no. I'm okay with forgiving them myself. But asking God to forgive them -- that's like letting them off the hook. That's saying that they never have to answer for what they've done. Why would I want to do that? No!!!" And when I realized the truth -- that my forgiveness was worth pretty much nothing, I was embarrassed. Now I knew that God and I both knew the truth about me, but then I sat there thinking, "Seriously -- do I have to admit this? Here are these people that I barely know -- do I seriously have to tell them the awful truth about myself?" It was bad enough to know the truth about myself -- I hardly wanted to confess it to others. But I did, and they liked me anyway -- imagine that. :)

So since then I've been periodically wondering -- how can we forgive? How can we love the unlikeable? How can we forgive those who have wounded us, and don't seem to care? And today, I got an answer. Maybe not THE answer, but enough of an answer for me, for now. I was thinking about Stephen, who, while he was being stoned, said, "Lord, do not hold this sin against them." Okay, my wounds feel a little petty compared to his, and it's astonishing to me that as he was dying he asked God to forgive his murderers. How could he do that? My wounds were nothing like his, and I was shocked at the thought of praying that prayer. And then I saw it. Stephen "looked up to heaven and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing at the right hand of God." It's a matter of focus. His eyes were fixed on Jesus. And that's what made the difference.

When my eyes and thoughts are on my own wounds, and I want to protect myself, then it's hard to forgive, and impossible to ask God to forgive the offenders. But when my focus is on Jesus, who also said, "Father, forgive them" while He was dying, the offense no longer seems like the important thing.

And I'm finding it interesting that this is the same answer I've been getting for other questions I've been asking God over the last couple of years. I've been learning (and relearning) to live this life as a stranger and alien on the earth, as a pilgrim, journeying to my real home. The search is over -- I know where my real home is. And if I can keep my eyes focused on Jesus, on my real home, then the wounds of this world won't be so shattering. And those glimpses of the glory of God will make it easier to say, "Father, forgive them."

Names

2010-10-21T12:24:00.000+04:00

I’ve been thinking a lot about names lately. Here in Russia, names are done differently than we’re used to. It’s much more common to the use first name and the patronymic, which identifies the person’s father’s name, than it is to use the last name. It’s done as a sign of respect as well as to more clearly identify the person, and it’s helpful in a country with a pretty small bank of first names. I know a bazillion Natashas, for example. And for foreigners, especially at the beginning when your language skills aren’t great, it’s a little hard to grasp the long patronymics and remember them. So especially during my first year in Russia, we tended to identify our friends, not by their patronymic, but by some characteristic that described them, and usually it was immediately clear who we were referring to. For example, there was Olga with the Red Glasses, Flannelgraph Olga, Dear Precious Olga, and, sadly, Olga who Fell in the Manhole. Don’t ask.

In Russian I would be Diana Philipovna – if you wanted to show me respect. But another aspect of Russian names that I love is their many, many sweet names they call each other. We do that too in the US, but it seems to me that they do it more here. The most common way of being friendly is to add a fun ending to the first name – you could call me Dianochka if you were my friend. And on any given day I could be a Little Bunny Rabbit, Favorite One, Sunshine, Dear One, a Soft Little Animal’s Paw (okay, that one loses a little something in the translation…). You get the idea.

What started me thinking about names was reading a list of the disciples Jesus chose. Some in the list just have a first name, but others have something added to identify them. Simon, whom Jesus named Peter. Simon, who was called the Zealot. James, the son of Alphaeus. Judas, the son of James. And, sadly, Judas, who became a traitor.

Names given by parents; names showing family relationships; names describing character traits or associates; Names to describe an action you took that ends up defining you. They’re all there. And in addition to that list, there are others: Saul, whom Jesus renamed Paul; and John, the disciple Jesus loved.

Thinking about these names has made me wonder how I would be listed, if I were in the list. Would I only be identified by which family I belong to? I hope not. Would I be identified by a character trait, or by something that I’ve done/have yet to do? That’s a scarier thought. Would I end up being like Simon the Zealot, or John, whom Jesus loved, or even Judas, who became a traitor? Judas, who stole money from the box. Judas, who betrayed Jesus. Maybe it’s too soon to tell. Those lists were written years later, and some of the names came from looking back over their lives. Some, though, were probably evident from the beginning. And so I wonder.

I love to think about John, who used to be known as one of the sons of Zebedee, the brother of James, a fisherman, fishing buddy of Simon and Andrew, one of the Sons of Thunder, for crying out loud. And then he came face to face with Jesus, and spent three years with him, and his life was never the same. And afterwards, his life was so turned upside down, his favorite way to describe himself was simply – the disciple whom Jesus loved. People like to criticize him for being arrogant. I don’t think so. I don’t think he was claiming something that no one else could have. I agree with Brennan Manning, who says that once John came face to face with the amazing love of Jesus, it redefined how he saw himself. It changed his life, and his name.

And so I wonder. What would my name be now? What will my name be in ten years? What name would they put on my tombstone, if they were being totally honest?

Simon, whom Jesus renamed Peter. Thomas, who doubted. Judas, who became a traitor. John, whom Jesus loved. Diane, who…

Reunions

2010-10-13T21:06:00.003+04:00

Today, like many of you, I imagine, I spent a lot of time watching the rescue of the Chilean miners. I have an additional monitor for my laptop, so I set it up so I was working off the laptop's monitor, and had the CNN website streaming live video on my other monitor, so all day long I could keep tabs on what was going on. A part of the screen contained a clock showing how long the rescue had been going on, and a count showing how many men had been rescued, and how many were still in the mine. It was so exciting to watch the ongoing rescue all day long, and feel the thrill each time the capsule appeared again, with another miner rescued. And now I'm home, and am watching CNN on tv, and more than half of the miners have been rescued. I just can't get enough of the hugs, kisses and tears as each one is reunited with loved ones. And every time another cheer goes up -- I get chills down my spine and get choked up all over again. It just doesn't get old.

I sometimes half-seriously say that when I need a lift, I can just go hang out at the arrivals hall of an international airport. There are a few to choose from in Moscow, and I do seem to hang out there a fair bit -- although so far I haven't gone so far as to take a drive to the airport just to feel better. (I'm afraid that sitting in traffic might kill the fun.) There's just something so touching about seeing reunions, even reunions of people who are strangers to me. I never mind if a flight that I'm meeting is late, because I could watch those reunions all day. Anxious looks, scanning the crowd for that familiar face you're looking for, smiles, tears, hugs, kisses. It just doesn't get old.

When I was in the US this summer, while I was going through the security line at an airport, someone who had already said her goodbyes to her loved one startled us all by shouting, "LOVE YOU!!!" in the general direction of the people putting their shoes back on, on the other side. There was a long pause, and I was just starting to feel disappointed, when we heard the reply, a little faint, but clear: "love you!!" I had a smile on my face for a long time after that. I'd love to have been there for their reunion at the end of that trip.

This life I live is full of hellos and goodbyes. And lately it seems like the goodbyes far outweigh the hellos. In the last few years, some of my favorite moments have been in airports. But then, some of my saddest moments have been in airports as well. Recently one of my friends reminded me -- in heaven there are no departure gates, only arrival gates. That's a comforting thought -- that among the many kinds of tears that will be wiped away in heaven, the tears of goodbye will be banished!! I can hardly wait.

I guess it makes sense that for now the goodbye tears will outweigh the hello hugs. After all, we're living in a world that's not our home. We're strangers and aliens here. There are sure to be a lot of goodbyes and tears before we make it home. I think that's probably one reason why we love to see reunions so much. It's a picture of what will some day finally come to pass -- some day we'll finally make it home, and we'll never have to say goodbye again. There'll be shouts of joy when we arrive, and lots of hugs and kisses and tears and reunions. And those "love you" shouts that we'll hear -- they'll be shouts of welcome, and not goodbye. Never goodbye. And I'll be doing some of the shouting! "LOVE YOU!!!"

The Return of the Blog...

2010-10-04T21:17:00.004+04:00

I’m sad, but not very surprised to see how long it’s been since the last time I updated this blog. You see, I love to write, but I have to feel inspired to do it. And up until last week, it’s been a mighty long time since I felt even the slightest inspiration to write. It’s not exactly that I’ve had nothing to say. It’s more like I’ve had no energy to say it. There’s been a sea of depression and loss in my life, and I’ve been drowning...swimming...wading...floating...and sometimes looking for a lighthouse to guide me to the shore. Some time ago I did see a light; I think I’m splashing in the waves now. :)

I’ve learned a few things about myself during my lost-at-sea experience. You know how everyone has certain issues, patterns of life, which tend to define them in certain ways? He has to be right. She has to be the center of attention. Well, here’s my confession. I can only depend on myself. I can’t ask for help. I have to do things myself. I know – it’s ridiculous. How could I believe that? But it seems that I do, deep in my heart. Oh, don’t worry, I can ask someone to open a jar, and I’ve even been known to ask a tall friend to come over and change a light bulb for me on my impossibly high ceiling. But even that was hard for me, believe it or not. I think I waited a month before I asked. I won’t bore you with my explanations and exploration of why I would become like this. The point is – without consciously knowing it, I believe it, and it affects my life. My everyday life is affected when I keep using a set of drawers that keeps falling apart practically every time l try to open it, when I’ve had a replacement sitting on my balcony for over a year that needs to be put together, and I don’t want to bother anyone and ask them to help me. Okay, that’s not so bad – I can live with that. However… my emotional life is affected when I think I have to do this crazy life alone. I tell myself that no one wants to be bothered, and I don’t share my heart, or my needs with others.

Have you ever seen the movie “28 Days”? The hero of the story, Gwen, is sentenced to 28 days at a rehab center. Probably my favorite part of the movie is when she has to wear a sign around her neck, visible to all, that says, “Confront me if I don’t ask for help.” That scene makes me laugh, and makes my skin crawl at the same time. Imagine having to walk around with one of your big flaws written out for all the world to see!!

All of these things I’ve known about myself. What has surprised me recently was to learn that this also is a pattern in my spiritual life as well. You might be thinking that I shouldn’t be surprised, but if I’m hiding these things from others, why should it be surprising that I’m hiding them from myself as well?

God has been showing me, gently, that I’ve been trying to take the responsibility to accomplish what only He can do. I’ve been trying to do His job for Him. I’m not talking about the big things of the world. I’m not trying to bring about world peace, or end hunger, although, that would be pretty cool… I’m talking about things in my life. I’m talking about realizing that everything in my life is a gift. Grace is a gift. (And believe it or not, I can tell you that grace is a gift, while I’m secretly trying to earn it.) I’m talking about understanding that Jesus meant it when He said that His yoke is easy and his burden is light, and that if I’ll only come to Him, He’ll give me rest. And I’m talking about understanding that He really means me, and not everyone in the world but me, who has to keep working to earn that grace.

And last week, about the time that inspiration tapped gently on the door, I read something that blew me away. It’s a little thing, buried in the epilogue of one of Brennan Manning’s books, “Souvenirs of Solitude”. Throughout this whole season of feeling sadness and loss, I’ve been so very upset with myself for not being able to be the person I wanted myself to be. I could see what I wanted; I knew that I had to give up this desire, and let go of this idea that I’ve been clutching in my tightly closed hands; I could see it all so clearly. And I demanded instant change from myself, and couldn’t understand why it wasn’t working. Oh, I tried to be more gracious to myself, but I always expected more, and then was disappointed in myself. And then I read this: “Perhaps somewhere in these pages, the Lord asked something of you that’s driving you out of your mind. Maybe He gently invited you to let go of some attachment so that you might have more of Him. Be at peace. Whatever it is, you can’t will it, disavow it, or empty yourself of it. It is only the power of a Presence, the compelling attractiveness of a Person, the irresistible loveliness of Jesus Christ that can set you free.”

At last – I get it!! It’s not my job to glue the pieces of my broken heart back together. It’s not my job to be the perfect person so that everyone will love me. It’s not my job to convince those who dislike me or even hate me that I’m worthy of their love. It’s not my job to never make mistakes so that everyone will respect me. It’s not even my job to keep trying to break those chains to set myself free. At last I see – it’s His job!! And not only His job, but something that He loves to do – because He loves me. And the more I get to know Him, and understand His love for me, the easier it will be to “let go of some attachment so that I might have more of Him.”

So there you have it – my true confessions. I don’t have to do it all myself. I can’t do it all myself. And I’ll tell you something else. I’ve been doing some – let’s call them exercises – to try to change this mindset. I talk myself into asking for help for the little things – carry something heavy down to the dumpster, buy some lovely flavored creamer for me ... And way harder – share what’s on my heart with someone who cares, but has no clue what I’m feeling. It’s a progressive exercise. And this blog tonight – you guessed it – another exercise, one more way to open up and prove to myself that it’s a lie that I can only depend on myself. That I can only trust myself. And even more – on the days to come when I forget, I can look back and say … oh… I remember… I can’t do this alone!! It’s not my job!!

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go ask someone to help me put together these dresser drawers that have been taking up space on my balcony.

Clinging to his father's hand...

2009-12-13T12:24:00.003+03:00

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

2009-12-03T13:12:00.003+03:00

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 ...

2009-11-07T20:47:00.002+03:00

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

2009-09-26T12:40:00.001+04:00

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

2009-08-08T12:28:00.002+04:00

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

2009-06-01T22:11:00.002+04:00

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

2009-05-22T10:00:00.002+04:00

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

Fariza

2009-04-18T16:20:00.005+04:00

A few weeks ago a team of pastors came to Russia from the NY/NJ area to visit our missionaries, and to experience some ministries that we are involved with. One day during their visit I had the pleasure of taking a couple of them to the city of Maikop, to share with them the ministry to the handicapped and needy in the area. One of these pastors just happened to be one of my best friends from college, which made it all the more special to be able to share something so close to my heart. We met with lots of people that day, and drank lots of tea and ate until we couldn't eat any more -- no, actually, way past that point, because everyone that we visited wanted to share something special with the visitors from America.

They got to see many aspects of Russia that the casual tourist could never see -- very poor people living in cramped, inadequate living conditions; a brief look at an orphanage; people who don't have much of their own - sharing what they do have with strangers; a couple of families who spend their time reaching out to those in need, and who are loved dearly by those they care for. And in each home we visited, after spending time talking with the families, one of the pastors took the time to pray for them. And as pleased as they were to be visited by these foreign 'dignitaries' and to sit and talk with them, and share a little of their lives with them, it seemed to me that it meant even more to them, whether they were believers or not, that someone would take the time and effort to pray for them and their loved ones -- to make them feel special, and loved.

I had a special treat that day -- we went to see one of my favorite families, with a teenaged girl named Fariza, who has cerebral palsy. They are favorites of mine because they were the very first family I visited when I became involved in this ministry, years ago, and because Fariza is an adorable girl who stole my heart right from the beginning. Although she wasn't expected to live anywhere near this long, she's still alive and happy. Her family loves her dearly and do anything for her, no matter what the rest of the world thinks about her or her worth. And I had the joy of seeing my friend take one look at her and fall in love with her just like I did ten years or so ago. When he talked to her she responded and laughed at him, and he held her hand and gave her a kiss and she was happy. And the special treat -- seeing Rudy holding the hand of one of my favorite girls and praying for her and her family, and asking for God's blessings on their home.

Here's a quote I love from a message by Tony Campolo that I heard recently on the Internet: "...2000 years ago when Jesus died on the cross, He busted out of the Holy of Holies, and He has chosen to dwell in people. And those who would love Him must love people. He waits to be loved in hurting people. He waits to be loved in suffering people. He waits to be loved in the hungry and degenerate of the world."

I saw Jesus loved that day, as strangers sat down together over tea or a meal, as pastors took the hands of those in need and prayed for them, and as a girl who is treated by the world as an outcast and worthless was treated like a princess.

No Comment

2009-03-26T17:11:00.002+03:00

Have you ever seen the short program on BBC or CNN called "No Comment"? They show video of a current event, totally without any commentary, and let the pictures speak for themselves. Today's blog will be thoughts on the financial crisis from my friend Vlad, our Moscow driver, helper, ticket buyer, advice-giver, and all-around good guy, with No Comment from me.

Before the financial crisis, professional drivers in Moscow spent approximately one day per month sitting in traffic. Now, more people are taking public transport instead of driving, and there are 10% fewer cars on the roads in Moscow.

Before, cars stuck in traffic jams on a typical day in Moscow added up to a length of 700 kilometers. Now traffic jams only total a length of 400 kilometers.

The average speed of traffic in Moscow has increased by 7 kilometers per hour due to fewer cars on the road.

And finally, my personal favorite (although this is supposed to be without commentary), the financial crisis is increasing the cost of corruption.

Roller Coasters

2009-03-06T10:28:00.002+03:00

I used to love to ride roller coasters. I think I still do, but I haven’t been on one in so long I’m not sure anymore. When I was a kid and my youth group would go to Cedar Point or King's Island, the roller coasters were my favorite rides, no matter how long the lines were. I couldn’t wait to check out the latest new ride, with twin loops over the water, or a free fall that took my breath away!

But now my life feels like it’s stuck on a roller coaster ride. Like I could spend my whole life on the rails of the ride, going up and down the hills, just reacting to circumstances and the latest crisis that comes my way, instead of choosing a course to go. Maybe the problem here is that it’s not the American-style roller coaster that I’m used to. There is an element in life here of what seems like chaos to an American mind. And one person’s normalcy is another person’s chaos. For example, in our office yesterday we spent a good bit of the day doing nothing but reacting to the latest news about what was happening to our request for visas. And once again we were planning potential last-minute trips out of the country to apply for visas, and staring at the calendar, and trying to figure out the least disruptive timing, and searching through airline schedules for fights that could work to get everyone out in time for this, but back in time for that. A week ago we came up with Plans F, G, H and I. A few days ago we were on to Plans J, K and L. I don’t even want to think about how many plans we came up with yesterday. We could be up to Plan Z by now.

This could be a full-time job. I could give up my current job and become a full-time Reactor. Cultural Adaptation Reactor. CAR for short, as in the front car of the roller coaster, where you sit, white-knuckled, with your hands gripping the bar that holds you in, hanging on for dear life. And instead of choosing my own course, coming to the place where the two paths diverge in the woods and choosing the road less traveled, I find myself once again tilted back in my seat, gravity holding me down, as the roller coaster climbs the steep hill, and I’m holding my breath, waiting for the moment when I’ll be once again plummeting down the hill, screaming at the top of my lungs. :)

Okay, that’s very dramatic. Life isn’t all that bad. And as I recall, screaming on the roller coaster is half the fun. In fact, I used to love to ride the Scooby Doo roller coaster with kids and fake-scream just for kicks! And maybe I’m kidding myself, and no matter where I live or what I do, life would still feel like a roller coaster. So maybe the problem isn’t the culture I’m living in, but my own reactions and attitudes to the circumstances that seem to be taking me on this ride.

My prayers these days also seem to be more based on reactions than anything else, and asking for help in putting out the latest fires. Or worse, what seemed like a miraculous answer to prayer one day is suddenly nullified the next day by the latest circumstances. So, and I’m just spitballing here (if I can sneak in a quote from A Few Good Men), but maybe my problem is that my focus is on the wrong thing – on the current crisis, or annoying circumstances, or the fact that the roller coaster seems to be headed up a pretty steep hill…

Still, I wouldn’t mind taking a break from the roller coaster and riding the Teacup Ride for a while. Or maybe the It’s A Small World After All ride. No – I’ve got it – the Hershey Park ride that shows you how chocolate is made. Because at the end of the ride, you get free chocolate!!

Sveta

2009-02-25T10:54:00.003+03:00

I apologize – when I made the decision to start blogging, I made a commitment to be faithful, and write every week, and already I’ve fallen behind. For the last couple of weeks I just couldn’t seem to find within me what it takes to write something that would be meaningful. I’ve been feeling very discouraged and blue, in large part due to some goodbyes that I’ve been dreading having to say in the coming months. Goodbyes take a lot out of me, and I’ve been pretty depressed just thinking about it.

So today I’d like to tell you about Sveta. I’ve also been putting off writing about her, because I’m afraid that before long she’ll be saying goodbye. Sveta has cancer. Although I’ve been hearing about her for a couple of years now, I just met her for the first time in January. When I saw her, I assumed that she was quite a bit older than me, and that her children were her grandchildren. I was pretty shocked to learn later that she’s actually younger than me. I went to visit Sveta with Natasha, a dear friend of mine who along with her husband leads our ministry to families with handicapped children, orphans, needy families, and just about anyone who knocks on her door.

Natasha and I sat down with Sveta, and talked with her about her family and her needs. Well, mostly I just did the listening. Sveta is in constant pain, and pretty much stays in bed all the time. She lives with 8 other family members in a tiny, tiny house, with no plumbing. They share a community outhouse in the courtyard with all their neighbors. Any water they need is taken from a pump on the street and carried inside. We looked around her tiny house and asked her where in the world they all slept, and she showed us how they squeeze everyone in. It was pretty cold inside the house. There were obviously many needs. We had brought a small gift of food with us, but it wasn’t going to last long. At least one family member is handicapped; there is one baby, and one baby on the way, and I’m pretty sure that there are no husbands at all involved.

We wanted to talk about how to help her, but she had other plans. All she wanted to tell me was an experience that she had had during surgery when she had been declared clinically dead, before being brought back to life. It had actually happened twice to her, but the first time must have been a pretty short experience, and she doesn’t remember much, other than seeing a tunnel. But the second time she died, she remembers going up through the clouds, and being in the presence of Someone. Although she had never believed in God, she knew immediately that this could be no one other than God. She said there was light shining from his eyes. He took her by the hand, and she felt peace. Before her surgery, she had been in so much pain she had just wanted to die, and I think that she had hopes that this was death, and her future – life with this Someone. At some point during this visit with God, she realized that she was going to have to say goodbye, and would have to return to the world, to her family, and she asked forgiveness for having wanted to die. After she was revived, and the surgery was finished, she was taken back to her hospital ward, and the women there told her that they had heard that she had died, and they were all upset about it. So she’s been telling this story to everyone who will listen, and now wants more than anything to learn more about this God that she met, and to get to know him.

So when we got back home, Natasha and I just sat and looked at each other. Natasha said that every time she visits Sveta, her soul aches. I can understand that – I had just met her, and already my heart felt ripped apart. Natasha is a fellow bleeding-heart who like me feels the pain of others way more than seems normal. So we just sat for a while together, aching for Sveta, and then as we talked we realized that God had spoken the same thing to both of our hearts – to show her God’s love the best way we can right now, by taking care of some of her needs. So the next day we went to the market, and bought some blankets, some warm socks, a new robe, and took them to her. We walked a few blocks from the market to her house, carrying our treasures through a small footpath in the snow, feeling like Grandfather Frost, the Russian version of Santa Claus, and his granddaughter the Snow Maiden. We surprised her with the visit and with the presents, and she cried and kissed us. We put the new robe on her, and a pair of socks, and covered her up with one of the blankets, and anytime we were within her reach she kissed our hands, the top of our heads, whatever she could reach. It was so humbling to receive such thanks for such a small effort on our part.

Sveta can’t get out of her house to go to church to find out more about God. She’s dependent on people coming to her. Natasha visits her, and tries to answer her questions, and gives her books to read. I hope that she’s found others to visit Sveta too, because she’s so hungry to learn.

I’m hoping to visit Sveta in March. I’ll probably take her more gifts – food, socks, more blankets – things to make her life easier, more bearable – ways I can show her God’s love in a tangible way. But what I’d really like to take her is some hope. Hope in the God that she got a glimpse of during her death experience. Hope in the God that took her hand and gave her a peace that she’d never before known. Hope that tells her that even though her life on earth is nothing like she ever wanted it to be, and maybe never will be, she will one day be healed, and will have a new, perfect body, without pain, and a life she never dreamed was possible. And then this life that she’s living now will be seen for what it is – a preparation for her future unending life with that God that took her by the hand and said, “Let’s get to know each other.” And she’ll know that this time, she won’t have to say goodbye.

The Birthday Party

2009-02-05T11:14:00.004+03:00

Last month I went to a birthday party for a guy I didn’t know, with friends of mine. In typical Russian fashion there was a huge dinner, lasting several hours, with people coming and going as their schedules allowed. And in typical Russian fashion, when we sat down at the table our hostess piled up food on our plates for us, especially the dishes that are usually served only on special occasions. So before I knew what was happening, I had a plate-full of food that I really dislike, served in generous portions to me, the unknown guest. If I were in the home of friends, I could probably have politely figured out a way to not have to eat it. But I didn’t know my host and hostess, and I didn’t want to be rude. Plus, I hate to be seen as the ugly American. Plus, I have this need inside to make everyone happy. So I stared at my plate, and knew I was going to have to somehow choke this food down. In order from least to most offensive, I had to deal with caviar on buttered bread, a many-layered salad that I actually love except for one extraordinarily overwhelming layer of fish (and I’m talking about the fishiest of fish), and (here’s where it really gets bad) meat jello. I’m sure it has a name in English, but I have no idea what it is. In Russian it’s called holodets, and the name alone sends a shiver of disgust down my spine. (My friend Mona, if she’s reading this, is now trying not to gag.)

So I loaded up on other salads and the main course, and mixed the food together and managed to eat it all. And I was pretty proud of myself, and thought I was pretty much the world’s best guest at that point. And then I made the mistake of sneezing. Three times. And my host, the birthday boy, Shurik, heard me, even though at the time he was in the front entry-way on the other side of a closed door, and he loudly announced through the door that the person who sneezed needed to go sit in the sauna and be cured of their cold. Now, he didn’t know that with or without a cold, I sneeze all the time, and usually in threes. All he knew was that one of his guests needed help that he could provide.

The bad news is that I hate saunas, almost as much as I despise meat jello. So I politely declined the sauna offer. But he kept pushing and pushing, and at last insisted that I at least needed to come take the tour of their sauna, which was a recent addition to their home. So at last I gave in and said I’d take the tour, and if you know me well, you’ve already guessed that I let myself get suckered into going inside, fully clothed, and sitting in the sauna while Shurik explained how beneficial it is, and blah, blah, blah. And here’s the thing – of course, you don’t go into a sauna with your clothes on. And so the sauna experience is usually a segregated experience, either for men or for women. But none of the women that night wanted to go into the sauna, and it was clear that I wasn’t going to sit there alone, and Shurik knew in his heart of hearts that it would be good for me to sit there in the 160 degree sauna, and sweat out my cold. And so he sacrificed for my sake, and sat with me, fully clothed, with sweat dripping down his face, because that’s what was best for me, in his mind, anyway.

And his sacrifice was so much better than mine. I sacrificed and choked down the food so I would look like a good guest, and so I wouldn’t hurt my hostess’ feelings. His sacrifice was entirely for my benefit.

And I’m thinking – isn’t this what friendship is all about? My friendships have to involve give and take, or else it’s just all about me. Sometimes you have to eat the meat jello, even if no one knows what a sacrifice you’re making. Especially if no one knows what a sacrifice you’re making. And sometimes you have to break the rules and sit in the sauna fully clothed, if that’s what’s for the ultimate good of your friend. Because, is it really love if it doesn’t involve sacrifice?

Julietta

2009-01-30T06:42:00.005+03:00

Julietta and Nikolai live in a small village in southern Russia. As is very common in Russia, they live with members of their extended family. But their situation is a little different. In addition to one of Julietta’s daughters and a son from her first marriage, she and Nikolai also take care of three grandchildren, children of another daughter who has abandoned all three. They all live together in a very small house with no indoor plumbing. They don’t have a lot of money. Life is hard for them, but Julietta couldn’t bear to see her grandchildren grow up in an orphanage, so they took them in even without really having the means to take care of them.

When I first met Julietta, they didn’t even have a source of water on their property. To get the water that they needed they had to ask their neighbors, and it seemed that the neighbors’ good will was starting to wear thin. We donated some money, and one of the men from a nearby church found someone to come and dig a well for them, so they’d have their own source of water. We also bought them two goats, so the kids would have milk to drink. Some church members continued to visit the family on a regular basis, sharing food with them, and also sharing love.

Julietta didn’t understand why these people cared enough to help them. She kept asking questions, and eventually started attending church with them to find the source of the love that was overflowing to her family. She and Nikolai both became followers of Jesus, and started sharing the good news of God’s love with their family and neighbors. Their house became a totally different place. When I visited them recently, I was stunned by the difference in their lives. Julietta has changed from a heartsick grandmother, worried about how she was going to take care of her grandchildren, to a beaming, joyful woman, who is still concerned about the future, but is learning to trust God to take care of her loved ones. And she is now sharing from the bounty of her heart – she prepared a lavish tea table for us, even though we had asked her not to go to any bother, and insisted on giving me eggs from their hens and cheese that she had made. The children are completely different now too. When I first met them they were scared and shy, and wanted nothing to do with us. This time, they warmed right up to us, and the oldest one came and snuggled right up with me and talked non-stop for probably half an hour.

They’re sharing with their neighbors, too. The same neighbors that used to share their water with them now come to Julietta for help, because she is the proud owner of the only blood pressure machine in the village. They also host a small group meeting every Tuesday night. One of the pastors of their church comes out to the village to lead a Bible study, and many of their neighbors come.

Julietta was thirsty, and her neighbors gave her water. She was thirsty, and the church helped her dig a well. She was thirsty, and she came to the church, looking for the source of the water. She found the source of Living Water, and started sharing this water with others who are thirsty – her husband, her children, her grandchildren, her neighbors…

Jesus said, “If anyone is thirsty, let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, streams of living water will flow from within him.” John 7:38.

It’s my prayer today that those streams of living water will keep flowing from me, as they do from Julietta, so thirsty people around me could be drawn to the living water, and have their thirst quenched.

Ida

2009-01-21T20:53:00.000+03:00

Her name is Ida, and she is the concierge of my apartment building. It may sound fancy, but mostly it means that she sits all day in a small booth, cold in the winter and hot in the summer, and provides a presence in our entryway. She sleeps there at nights on the bed/sofa where she sits during the day. She has a small tv and a cd player for entertainment, and when she gets bored she sometimes takes a short walk outside near the entrance. She used to alternate working with a couple other women, but now she works all the time. Seriously. 24/7. Her husband and brother work in a maintenance crew on the grounds, and can stop in to see her on their breaks or after they finish work. They’re from far away, and have come to Moscow to work as much as they can, and are saving up their money so they can go back home and buy a house. They’re willing to put up with all sorts of inconveniences now so they can have a better life in the future.

And Ida loves me, with all her heart. She tells me so in Russian, and occasionally in English, which she speaks a little. She blows kisses at me from the window of her booth. When I come in, she almost always comes out of her booth to say hello, asks how my day was, tells me how good it is to see me, and walks me to the elevator. She pats me on the arm, and wishes me a good night, and best wishes, and any other wishes that come to her mind as I get on the elevator. And in the morning when I leave for work it’s a repeat performance with wishes for a good day. When I came back recently from being in the US for three months, she gave me a bear hug bigger than some of the ones I got from good friends!

She loves me almost without reservations. And here’s the thing – I’ve done practically nothing to deserve her love. I’m kind to her, and for that she loves me. Ida is from Uzbekistan, and many Russians look down on people from the southern republics, especially when they have darker skin. They are often snubbed, and worse, are frequently the victims of nationalistic violence. For many people from the “-stans” the inconveniences they’re willing to put up with encompass far more than long hours, hard work and low pay.

I am kind to Ida, and for that she loves me. It makes me a little ashamed that I don’t do more to deserve her love. I feel uncomfortable that I haven’t earned such a response from her. Tonight as I pushed the elevator button I could see her standing there, waving goodbye, watching me until the doors closed. And then I got it -- her love for me is kind of a picture of how God loves me -- for no merit of my own. He just loves me, no matter what I do or don’t do. I’m his favorite. But don’t worry – so are you! We’re all his favorites. And what seems strange to an obsessive-compulsive workaholic like myself – no matter how hard I work to earn His approval, it won’t earn me any more love than has already been given, is already available to me. He just loves me.

Brennan Manning says in The Ragamuffin Gospel, one of my favorite books, that God whispers to us, “You have My love. You don’t have to pay for it. You didn’t earn it and can’t deserve it. You only have to open to it and receive it. You only have to say yes to My love – a love beyond anything you can intellectualize or imagine.”