Friday, March 28

Up at 2:30 a.m., in a taxi by 4:00, on a plane by 4:45, and the 26-hour trip home was underway. From Kosice to Vienna was a little more than one hour. Easy. Then came a five hour layover. I found a plug-in behind a pay phone, sat myself down on the granite floor, pulled out my laptop, and wrote our family’s next newsletter. Oh my. Getting up two hours later was a challenge for this stiff old granny. But, hey! I got the newsletter done. Wahoo!!

The next leg of the journey was an 8 ½ hour jaunt across the Atlantic. The airline on which I traveled may as well be nicknamed “Sardine Airlines” for the amount (or lack thereof) of leg room. But guess what? I had no seat partner for this entire trip. That meant I could stretch out a little bit. When that happens on long trips like this, I consider it a real treat.

The plane landed in Toronto and suddenly I was surrounded by English speakers, English signs, English everything. After being away for a month, my brain had a wee bit of readjusting to do. Another three hours passed, but they were quick because I had to claim my suitcases and take them through customs before transferring to my next flight.

By this time, I was running on sheer adrenalin at the thought of getting home. My brain was starting to go into a fog so, when I found another plug-in, I did some work that took no thinking power. With about 9,000 emails in my “delete” box waiting to be permanently deleted, I figured this was a good time to start.

Have your legs ever felt crawly? That’s how mine felt for the 5-hour flight to Vancouver. They’d had enough sitting. They were now ready to get up and get moving, but that’s easier said than done while flying at 40,000 feet. Oh well – thank goodness for pressure socks and the ability to walk an aisle to the bathroom!

My son and his wife picked me up in Vancouver. The best part about coming home was seeing my grandbaby, Anna. She’d turned three months old and had changed a fair bit since I left. Poor little thing – while sitting in the car on the way home, she studied my face for a long time and then burst into tears and a pitiful, scared cry. Do I look that bad after traveling for so many hours? Or has Grandma been gone too long? I’m afraid it’s the latter. Well, maybe not. Maybe it’s the former, too.

“Thank You, Father, for the safe trip. Thank You for all the experiences You gave, and for Your wonderful presence over the past month. Continue the good work You began in women’s lives in Europe through the conferences there. And now, Lord, once again give me words to speak to women in North America. And may they capture the vision of how they can participate in building Your kingdom overseas, too. Amen.”

March 25-27

Early Tuesday morning we drove 40 minutes to Arad and boarded the train for a Hungarian destination. This would be a break – a welcome reprieve for us after a very busy month. Time to stop. Time to rest and be refreshed. Time to simply “be.”

We stayed at a hotel in the mountains. A quiet village lay below. Its cobblestone streets beckoned us to stroll and we accepted the invitation. The crisp air, spring songbirds, and gurgling stream tickled our senses. We drank cappuccino and Cokes in a tiny restaurant decorated with red-and-white checkered tablecloths. We ate dinner in another local restaurant and shook our heads when we realized that, as foreigners, we’d been ripped off when we paid the bill. Live and learn.

We stayed less than 48 hours, but we left feeling recharged and ready for the next month of ministry commitments. A cab delivered us to the train station, and off we went to Kosice.

Monday, March 24

Gene and I spent more time with Tresha and Andy today (The Joshua Project). They’re a tremendous couple loaded with passion about the work God has called them to do. It will be a privilege to raise awareness of their work when I return to Canada. Later in the day we met with Laura V., another IM coworker. She’s a Romanian gal whose passion is connecting with people through teaching English as a second language. The evening was spent with Doug and Roberta – the couple who founded River of Life. Wow – God has an amazing array of servants. Each one is so special and uniquely prepared for the work He’s given them.

Shortly after returning to River of Life, I was able to spend time with a couple of the women there. Donna had said very little to me during the previous days, but now she was the only woman in the room and took advantage of it. She motioned for me to sit on the couch beside her, and then, in very broken English, asked why I had to leave. Our conversation was interrupted repeatedly by children wanting one thing or another so it didn’t result in anything deep, but it was a good time of building a relationship with her. It reminded me of the importance of “being” rather than always “doing.”

Lavinia joined us a few minutes into the conversation. She, too, asked why I had to leave. I tried to explain that I have work to do in Canada, and both women accepted that with a slight nod. Before our time together ended, I told the women that I’d be praying for them. Lavinia’s eyes filled with tears and she said, “Pray I change.” She pointed towards her two-year-old daughter who was playing on the floor nearby. I knew what she meant. As a woman who grew up in the infamous orphanage setting, she didn’t receive proper nurturing. Now she’s finding it a huge challenge to parent her daughter in a healthy way. Tears rolled down her cheeks as I explained that God will help her change as she relies on Him for strength.

“Father, embrace these women and impress upon their hearts that You love them deeply. Change them from the inside out. Transform them into women who reflect the character of Jesus Christ and the fruit of the Spirit. In Your name, Amen.”

Sunday, March 23

Our family is celebrating Easter back home today, but Gene and I will miss it completely this year. Romania is mostly Orthodox, and the Orthodox religion celebrates it a month later than the rest of the world this year. So, although we attended a church service today, it wasn’t Easter.

Last year we were in India for Easter. I wonder where we’ll be next year? Maybe at home, celebrating with our kids and grandbaby??? I can always hope.

Today’s highlight happened immediately after breakfast. Breakfast, by the way, is usually a thinly sliced cold meat (today’s variety was salami), cheese, and bread. We can make an open-faced sandwich with the meat and cheese, or eat the bread with jam. Items such as fruit, yogurt, and eggs are very costly here so they’re not a part of the menu.

Back to today’s highlight…Lavinia washed her hair last night and asked me to curl it again this morning. I encouraged her to try it herself. Her eyes grew wide. “Go ahead,” I said. “You can do it.” She took the curling iron and made an honest attempt. When it didn’t turn out as she’d hoped, she gave it back to me. “You,” she said.
Grace and Lavinia

Lavinia’s hair is very thick so it took about a half hour to get the job done. When I added a touch of hairspray, her eyes grew wide again. “What that?” she asked. She smiled approvingly when I told her that it would help hold the curls.

As I fussed with my new friend’s hair, I thought it would be nice to sing a song about the Lord. I chose “Jesus Loves Me.” Lavinia immediately joined in, singing in English. When we finished that one, I sung “My God is so big, so strong and so mighty, there’s nothing my God cannot do…” Again, she joined me. This time I noticed that her voice was soft and pleasant-sounding. And before I knew it, she was singing in harmony. Beautiful. Sweet. A song of praise coming from a woman who has known extreme hardship such as I’ll never know. A song of joy coming from a new believer dearly loved by Jesus.

Gratitude for this moment suddenly overwhelmed me and choked my words. As I listened to Lavinia finish the song, I sat in wonder at having the opportunity to meet her and the others, to share a few words of encouragement with them yesterday, to hold their children on my lap, to be a part of their lives for a few days. I feel blessed beyond measure to be in this place at this time. And I feel the weight of responsibility, for now it’s my task to communicate the needs to others back in Canada so they, too, might consider God’s call to get involved in caring for the poor.

Gene and adoring fan Andre
“God, in six days my feet will touch North American soil once again. I’ll enjoy reliable hot showers, easy phone and email access, nicely paved roads, electric heat in my house. I’ll fall back into a demanding speaking schedule and the business that goes along with it. I fear forgetting all I’ve seen and experienced on this trip. Please don’t let that happen. Instead, burn these memories deep within my heart and memory and make me an effective mouthpiece for You back in Canada, Lord. Take my words and use them to motivate Your people to wholly follow You regardless of the cost to personal comfort and convenience. In Jesus’ name, I pray. Amen.” Village scenes around River of Life

Village scenes around River of Life

Village scenes around River of Life

Village scenes around River of Life

Saturday, March 22

River of Life care home

Today I found a way to connect with the Romanian women living at River of Life by offering to either braid or curl their hair. One gal, 23-year-old Lavinia, eagerly agreed so I spent the next 10 or 15 minutes French braiding her shoulder-length hair. Within a few minutes, however, she undid it.
The beauty shop in full swing.


“What’s wrong?” I asked her. “Why did you take out the braid?”

“I no like,” she said in her low, gravelly voice. “I want you curl it.”

“Okay, then,” I said. “But you’ll have to wait your turn.”

“Okay,” she said.

And so I turned my attention and curling iron onto a 12-year-old girl. Lavinia waited patiently, jumping up several times to chase her cute-as-a-button daughter Ema, age 2. Rosie, a pregnant mother with two elementary-age daughters shyly motioned that she wanted a French braid, too. And then her youngest child tiptoed my way wearing a sweet smile and a hopeful expression. And so the beauty shop kicked into full swing. Beside us, three of the youngest children lined up their little chairs and sat in a row playing their own version of beauty shop. It was a fun time for all.

The Saturday afternoon ladies’ meeting.

After lunch the women gathered around a long table for a cup of coffee and a meeting. Several village women, local believers, joined us. I presented a simple version of one of my speaking topics – “Overcoming the Pain and Shame of One’s Past.” When I think of these women’s pasts and the heartache they’ve endured, I wonder how they’ve even lived this long. Sexually and physically abused, homeless, growing up in hell-hole orphanages, these women are testimonies of a human’s ability to survive against incredible odds. Their lives carry scars – one seems skittish at times, as though she expects someone to hit her. Their critical thinking skills are challenged. Their parenting skills need a lot of encouragement.

Quite frankly, I feel as though handing them Scriptural platitudes is like a slap in the face. Christian lingo has neither place nor useful purpose. These gals need practical help and to be loved as Christ would love them. And that’s what they’re finding here. They’re the widows described in Scripture – abandoned and rejected. They’re the widows for whom Christ’s followers are commanded to care. How many more widows are out there? How many people are willing to go and lend a helping hand?
Gene checking Tante Maria’s blood pressure. She’s a Christian neighbor who came for the ladies’ meeting.

The harvest is plentiful but the laborers are few. “God, shake us from our comfy pews and teach us to value what You value. Plant within our hearts a passion for what You say is important.”

Friday, March 21

Gene and I spent part of today driving to and from a village with two of our IM missionaries. There’s a single middle-aged pastor out there, serving in this village of about 200 people. He invited us into his humble home. It had three rooms – one was quite new and nicely furnished for meetings but unheated and therefore useable only in the summer.

A dedicated pastor in his modest home. This room is his office, his living room, and his bedroom.

It had a kitchen about three feet by five feet with a teeny hot plate and tiny fridge. His oven was about a foot square and made of cast iron. The other room was his bedroom and living room combined, heated by an old woodstove. He had a table, two chairs, a TV on a stand, and a small two-tier bookshelf. His library of pastoral resources consisted of about 15 books. His Bible was open on his desk; I got the immediate sense that he is a very godly and committed man.

Two rows of houses faced each other. A grassy field and a little (unfortunately, polluted) creek separated them. Chickens, turkeys, and horses wandered around. What a beautiful scene!
One view of the village we visited.

There’s a handful of believers out here who meet regularly in a house that’s been converted to a church.

The church in the little Romanian village.

Across the way in visible sight looms a fancy Orthodox church building. Quite a contrast between the two structures, and between the two faiths. One is based on religion; the other is based on relationship.

Transportation in the Village

We’re staying at River of Life – a crisis care home founded and operated by IM missionaries Doug and Roberta Moore. Presently, the home provides shelter for four women and their six children. Two of these women spent their childhood years in orphanages. Their voice boxes are permanently damaged from screaming as babies left unattended in their cribs, sometimes fed intravenously rather than by bottles just because the orphanages were understaffed and overworked. All four have difficulty reading and lack understanding re: how to interact with their children because they had no proper nurturing themselves. Here they perform daily chores and are encouraged to develop work skills and pursue their education so they can someday become self-sufficient. A fulltime Romanian Christian social worker helps them move in that direction.

As North Americans, I don’t know if we fully realize how fortunate we are. Even though our government assistance programs aren’t perfect, they far outshine what’s available here. Without programs like The Joshua Project and River of Life, these teens and women/children would be on the street and doomed to die without a shred of hope or of knowing what it means to be loved and respected.

Thursday, March 21, 2008

Andy and Tresha, another IM couple, picked us up and drove us nearly three hours to their place of ministry. Together with Claudia and Tony, a Romanian IM couple, they run The Joshua Project – a care center for teens with HIV/AIDS. This ministry enables these young people to enjoy life and introduces them to Christ by loving them as He would. I don’t think my life will ever be the same.

The care center – a remodeled house – operates like a drop-in facility three afternoons each week. Twelve teenagers showed up today. In some cases, they travel up to three hours by bus to spend a few hours at the center. These kids are hungry for love and acceptance.
Our IM coworkers with a few of the teens who participate in The Joshua Project.
Tresha explained that the stigma of HIV/AIDS in Romania is huge, mostly due to a lack of education. People are extremely fearful and uninformed about how it’s transmitted, so they handle those who are ill like modern-day lepers. For example, sometimes parents leave their small sick children on a garbage heap. School-age children are not allowed to attend school or work. Some receive treatment through donations from other countries, but most don’t receive necessary medications because of financial constraints. When they die, the government typically buries them as paupers in unmarked graves. That is, unless they’ve been a part of The Joshua Project. “They’re forgotten in life,” says Tresha. “I won’t allow them to be forgotten in death, too.”

The disease is spreading rapidly in Romania. Years ago, children were vaccinated using the same needles. Some of these kids had been infected with HIV by their mothers at birth, or had received bad blood transfusions in the past, but no one knew they were now carrying the deadly virus. Sometimes women receive infected blood during surgery and they unknowingly spread the virus to their husbands. Men contract it as a result of having sex with prostitutes.

The method of contamination varies, but the result is the same. People become ill and eventually die. But in the meantime, this project is determined to help these teenagers live life to the full. Today, Claudia, a professional counselor, led them in a painting project. Bowls of popcorn, peanuts, and Snickers bars were devoured. Gene shared a devotional about God wanting to be our best friend through life’s ups and downs, rather than being a distant God who sits far off in the heavens oblivious to what’s happening in our lives. Then Tresha and Claudia invited whoever wanted to pray with them or us as we stood at one end of the room. Eleven teens rose to their feet and came to us. What a precious time of prayer and singing together.

As the afternoon passed, the kids warmed up to us. They challenged us to play ping-pong with them, and they enjoyed my taking pictures of them. When five o’clock rolled around and it was time to go home, they stood in line to hug us and have their pictures taken with us. Then they hung around the foyer not wanting to leave. They asked if we will return someday. Our answer was, “Yes. We’ll come to your teen camp in September.” How could we say anything else? These precious young people, rejected by society for a disease they carry due to circumstances beyond their control, need Jesus. The only way they’ll find Him is through His people showing them His love. We want to be a part of this.

Wednesday, March 19

This was a l-o-n-g day, and one filled with adventure. We caught a city bus bound for the train station in Kosice at 5:30, and boarded a train shortly after 6 o’clock. We arrived a half hour late in Budapest, Hungary, so we missed our connection. That meant waiting another couple hours for the next train. No problem. We just walked down the street, got some cash from a bank machine, and went to a little restaurant for a hot lunch to kill time.

The next ride was about five hours long. Oh my, it was HOT in that berth. There were five people in a six-person berth with luggage at our knees. A college girl sat facing me – we were by the windows, which also is by the heat register, which is controlled by the engineers. She and I were roasting but when we tried to open the window to get some cool air, the lady by the door let us know that she didn’t want that. She had a big sweater that she could have put on to stay warm if she got too chilly but that wasn’t her way of doing things. And so we sweltered until she got off.

An hour later we arrived at the Hungarian border crossing into Romania. Hungarian police officers boarded the train to check everyone’s identification. Apparently there was a problem with Gene’s passport. The police, who spoke no English, motioned for us to take our suitcases and said something like, “Go policia.” We tried to ask a few questions about what was happening but it was no use. They had our passports and were not about to give them back. We finally had to just get off the train and walk to the nearby police station. Seven uniformed officers walked with us. They were all very nice, but I admit that my imagination began to go a little crazy. Were we being led to a small room with a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling? Were we about to be interrogated? Maybe even spend the night in a Hungarian jail?

When we got to the station, they told us to go into a (you guessed it) little room and sit down. And then they started questioning Gene about when he entered the Shenghan (sp?) zone – the term used for a region in Europe where there are no longer border crossings between countries. He kept telling them that he came into Kosice on Monday, two days ago. They were not satisfied. They asked more and more questions about his travels and asked why he didn’t have a stamp in his passport to show when he entered the zone. He said that the customs official in Kosice stamped his passport when he entered Slovakia, but that wasn’t the answer they wanted. Finally they asked for his airline tickets (he had his boarding passes and tickets), and his train tickets for today’s travels. They took both our passports along with the other info and disappeared. They left one officer with us – he spoke English fairly well.

We think he took this opportunity to practice his English. He asked about our children, seemed surprised that we would have a grandchild, asked about our job, etc. Then he asked if we celebrate Easter in Canada. We said yes. I said that that Good Friday celebrates the death of Christ and Easter Sunday celebrates His resurrection. He nodded with enthusiasm and said, “Yes, yes!” I asked him if he has read the Bible and he said that he has one at home. I told him that my father died two weeks ago and that because of what Jesus did, only his body is in the grave. His soul is in heaven with Jesus. He listened quietly and then said, “This is wonderful.”

We spent about two hours with this fellow. During this time he mentioned the Jewish people several times, especially in the context of their suffering in concentration camps. After we get home, we’ll try to find him a copy of Corrie ten Boom’s book The Hiding Place and mail it to him. Before we left, I gave him two granola bars for his children (he’d shown us a photo of his two little ones and his wife). He quickly slipped them into his pants pocket and thanked us.

When our documents were finally returned, he helped carry our bags to the nearby train station where I passed out chocolate to three people who were also waiting. Seeing their pleased reaction to the unexpected treat was more fun than throwing a party. Another hour and a half passed, and suddenly our new friend showed up. “Come with me,” he said. He grabbed one of our suitcases and escorted us outside to the platform. When the train pulled in, he walked us onto it. He shook our hands and asked us to write a postcard when we get home, telling him that we arrived safely.

What in the world was that about??? Only God knows, but I have a feeling it was more about our friend than about a passport. His daughter’s name is Esther – a Jewish name. We talked about how it’s a Bible name for a very brave queen. “She saved an entire nation,” he said. When he told us that his wife’s name is Elizabeth, I explained that she was the mother of John in the Bible. He looked blank. He said that he didn’t know who this John was because he hasn’t read his Bible much.

Perhaps his appetite was stirred to read the Book as a result of our visit with him. At any rate, we have a contact in Hungary in whose heart we believe God is working. Pray that he’ll read the Bible and come to a knowledge of the truth!

Tuesday, March 18

The whole situation felt surreal as Gene and I sat on the couch in Diane’s living room, watching the video of family and friends celebrating my dad’s life. I think the enormity of what I’d missed suddenly struck me as I watched the pallbearers carry Dad’s casket from the hearse to the gravesite. Four chairs were placed beside the casket – one for Mom, one for my brother, another for my sister, and the fourth for me. Three chairs were filled and one sat empty…until my sister invited Gene to take my place. One by one, each immediately family member stepped to the casket, spoke a few words in Dad’s honor, and placed a carnation on the top. Unfortunately their voices weren’t picked up by the mic, so I wasn’t able to hear what they said.

Thankfully that wasn’t a problem for the memorial service. I could hear every word that was spoken, and they were totally God-honoring. The service paid tribute to Dad and gave glory to the Lord for a life well-lived. While I grieve the loss of my dad, I rejoice in the fact that he’s whole and in heaven. I can only imagine what an Easter celebration must be like there!

The rest of the day was spent with our IM coworkers. I’m so blessed by their concern for me through the loss of my father. And I’m incredibly blessed and excited to see how God uses these people to accomplish His purposes. Their perseverance is to be commended. Working conditions here aren’t what they’d be in North America. Bureaucracy and political red tape can complicate the simplest task. Internet disruptions can cause all kinds of trouble when trying to process overseas government documents. Public transportation glitches can wreak havoc when running late. There are numerous reasons for them to grow discouraged and weary, but these folks have the tough stuff it takes to survive and thrive here. “Bless them, Lord. Grant them strength for their road. Direct their steps. And lead them beside the still waters, restoring their souls when they’re weary.”

Monday, March 17

This was our last travel day for this speaking tour. I’m amazed at the stamina I’ve had, especially considering the emotional load I’ve had to process at the same time. All I can say is, “God is good.” I’m so thankful for Diane’s companionship over the past 12 days, and for the many people back home who have been praying for me. Therein lies the reason for this trip’s success.

This morning Diane and I took a four-hour train ride to Cracow where our IM friend Iwona met us at the station for our one-hour layover. Bless her heart! “I’m caring for the strangers in my land,” she said with a smile. Then she directed us to a snack shop equipped with small tables and chairs and proceeded to unpack a roast chicken lunch for us. She has been such a source of joy to us on this trip. I look forward to deepening my friendship with her over time, despite the distance.

The most incredible thing happened when we boarded the train to continue our journey to Kosice, Slovakia. Out of nowhere appeared the same little man who’d helped us with our luggage in the Cracow station nine days prior! I didn’t even see him coming. Suddenly, there he was, picking up my suitcases and carrying them onto the train for me. He hoisted them onto the luggage rack overhead, just as he did before. (I’m sure they were nearly half his weight). Diane paid him, and he gently took her hand and kissed the back of it. Then he turned to me. Without even a glance at my face, he gently took my right hand and planted a feather-light kiss on the back of it. And then he was gone.

Amidst numerous platforms and levels in the train station, his finding us a second time was nothing short of miraculous. Diane and I like to think he was an angel sent to help us with our heavy bags, a kindness sent to remind us that our heavenly Father was watching over us.

Gene flew into Kosice this afternoon. After two weeks apart, it was great to see him again. He brought the video of my dad’s funeral, he said. Tomorrow I’ll watch it and enter a new leg of this emotional journey – one I’ve not traveled before.

Sunday, March 16

Today would have been my dad’s 84^th birthday. I sent him a birthday card early just in case he didn’t reach this day, but Mom told me that he wasn’t opening his eyes anymore by the time it reached him. “Sadness,” my friend Diane would say. He’s not here this year, but he’s enjoying a party that far outshines anything we could have dreamt up.

Today we attended a Polish church service with another IM couple. This city has 80,000 people and only 100 believers between two Protestant congregations. On the way to church, we drove past a massive Catholic cemetery approximately the size of a city block. Grave upon grave upon grave. The majority were covered with marble and decorated with flowers and candles. Across the street was an open market with sellers and their wares – grave candles and floral arrangements. Again, as Diane would say, “Sadness.” One thing I noticed was that no one seems to smile here. There’s a sense of heaviness in this place, as in many other places.

The evening sessions were well received by the women at the sponsoring church. One little lady reminded me of my grandmother. We tried to communicate but it was difficult without my knowing any Polish words and her knowing only a handful of English. What a delightful woman she was, though. More goodbyes, more kisses, and more prayers for God to build His kingdom in this place.

Saturday, March 15

The Radom conference began at 10 a.m. Four college-age women formed the worship team, singing the Polish version of familiar songs such as “Come, Now is the Time to Worship.” It’s amazing, really, the international family of God. He has adopted children of every culture and language. We might not be able to understand our brothers’ and sisters’ words while on earth but there are no communication barriers when we praise our Father together.

The day consisted of two sessions. After the first ended, one woman approached me and said, “I’m a scientist in the process of writing a book. I know exactly what you mean when you speak of the fear of inadequacy.” She explained that the task of writing this book stands before her like a mountain. She said that after hearing me telling about the fears I faced before writing Moving From Fear to Freedom, she knew she could proceed and trust the Lord to equip her for the job just as He had equipped me. Praise the Lord!

Others spoke to me after the last session, grateful for the perspective they’d received and excited about putting into practice the truths they’d learned. Goodbyes were said. Kisses were exchanged. And once again my heart rejoiced in the privilege of meeting these Polish sisters and being used as a channel of God’s blessings. This city has approximately 300,000 people and only 200 believers. I pray that the Lord will use this afternoon to help build His kingdom in this place.

The conference over, Diane and I hopped on a bus and headed for the next stop.

Friday, March 14

Another travel day. Jagoda, our Polish bubble, picked us up and delivered us to the train station. “Come back soon,” she said. “We can put you to work for a whole month speaking for our groups in Poland.” The train rolled in, and true to European fashion, stayed for only one minute. We barely had time to say our goodbyes before the whistle blew and we were off.

The instant we climbed on board, we were greeted by Anya, another IM friend. She’d translated for me when I was in Poland last September, and she was to be my translator for the women’s meeting in Radom, our next destination. What a joy to see her again. She’s in her mid 20s, attending university in Warsaw to develop her talent as an artist. Her passion for the Lord runs deep; she has wisdom beyond her years.

Several other IM coworkers met us in Radom and took us to their apartment. The entire day was a feast of getting to know each other better. In the evening we shared a precious time of praying together for the country of Poland. When we said “Amen,” Anya broke into song. “Seek ye first the kingdom of God and His righteousness…” We weren’t exactly a choir ready to go on tour, nevertheless we felt the presence of God fill that tiny apartment and our hearts were blessed. What a privilege to be partners with the Lord in building His kingdom in this country.

Thursday, March 13... Continued

The evening’s meeting was held in an upscale restaurant, hosted by the International Christian Fellowship church in Warsaw. Evening meetings are not the norm here, so Barbara (the pastor’s wife) wasn’t sure how well it would be attended. She was delighted when 37 women showed up. These gals were mostly Westerners – the wives of American businessmen and embassy employees.

At Barbara’s request, I spoke on the theme “If Teacups Could Talk.” Using an acrostic from the letters for the word friend, I talked about the different aspects of women’s friendships and then shared how Jesus is my best friend. If the attendees had as much fun as I did, then the evening was a success.

This speaking engagement provided me with an “aha” moment. My past experience in Nepal gives me credibility not only with missionary women but also with these Westerners living overseas. I understand homesickness, loneliness, language barriers, and culture shock. I understand what’s involved in moving overseas. I pray that my words encouraged them tonight. And I pray for more opportunities to connect with them and others in the same position.

Thursday, March 13

We met with a group of about 10 young mothers this morning, led by one of our wonderful IM gals. She has such a passion for these women, her peers. She meets with them on a regular basis to encourage them in their role as mothers and wives. I was delighted when she emailed shortly before I left Canada, asking if I could speak to them when I arrived in Warsaw.

We met in a family-friendly restaurant. A screen on one wall featured cartoons for the children to watch. Kid-sized tables and a bench swing made it a welcoming place for the little ones. This venue made it a very different atmosphere in which to speak. It was busy, busy, busy, and loud. At times I wondered if these moms could even hear me, let alone process what I was saying about the value of their role and how to stay refreshed.

My concern was answered as we ate lunch with them, when several approached Diane and me to ask questions about marriage and parenting. They found encouragement in knowing that I was a stay-at-home mom and was 40 years old when I started my writing career.

We left these lovely ladies after 2 p.m. and connected with Jagoda, the president of Women’s Forum (CCC) for Poland. Diane and I have nicknamed her “our Polish bubble.” She reminds us of the Energizer Bunny –going, going, going. She bought tram tickets for us and took us to tour Old City Warsaw. Trouble was, rain and wind swept in early that morning and blew away all traces of spring. “This is for crazy women!” said Jagoda as we zipped up our coats and braved the elements.

This was no leisurely stroll through the park. Facing time limitations and freezing weather, we hustled through history. “This is our White House,” said Jagoda. The camera pointed and clicked, and we raced on. “This is part of the wall that surrounded the city,” she said, motioning to her left. Point, click. “This candle marks the opening of an underground tunnel where children relayed messages between members of the Resistance,” she said. Point, click. “This symbol was placed on exterior walls to declare that the Polish people were alive and would continue fighting for their freedom against the enemy forces.” Point, click. And so our tour continued. By the time we reached the tram to return to Jagoda’s car, our hair hung limp and we looked like something the family dog might have dragged home. But hey! We made a memory!

Jagoda’s enthusiasm couldn’t be dampened by the rain. “Now I’ll take you to the train station,” she said. “Pray for a parking place nearby.” And off we drove. Sure enough, when we arrived at the station we found a space between two cars. “I don’t know if I can stay here, so I must hurry,” she said. Typical of the European way, she bumped up the curb and parked the car with its right wheels on the sidewalk. “Let’s go!” she said. Half-running, half-walking, we lugged our suitcases down the stairs, arriving at our platform as our train pulled into the station. “Goodbye,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” Diane and I were on our own, riding the train to the outskirts of Warsaw to meet our next contact person.

Wednesday, March 12

Today was a long day but extremely fulfilling. The first session was with Campus Crusade for Christ missionary women. Many are struggling with not knowing their niche. They became involved with CCC immediately after university and enjoyed a specific role. But as the years passed, they married and started raising a family. Now their husbands are busy and fulfilled in ministry, but they’re left feeling as though life is passing them by. They’re also facing major financial challenges, especially as the tension continues between the euro and the American dollar.

I can totally understand how they feel on both issues. As the Canadian dollar has strengthened, our family’s missionary financial base has dropped by several hundred dollars per month. I’ve been learning to trust and not be afraid as our expenses increase. I’ve learned to practice praise in the “midnight hour” as Paul and Silas did. God dwells in the praises of His people, and when we praise Him in difficult circumstances, He delights to show His power. And so I thank the Lord that I can speak to them from my heart and not just give them pat answers. The women laughed and loved it when I told them that the shirt I was wearing was from a second-hand store. One gal stood up and indicated with arm gestures that her suit was also from a thrift store. We laughed again, and then someone said to me, “You’re one of us!” To me, that’s a high compliment.

I can also relate to their struggle re: not knowing their niche in ministry. While in Christian camping ministry for 11 years, my husband was the program director but I had no defined role. That was a frustrating place to be, but through it I learned that my family was my first ministry, and I discovered small ways in which I could use my gifts even from my home. My heart totally empathizes with these gals who are well-trained and gifted but wondering if they’ll ever have opportunity to use their education again.

Later that evening we met in the same room. This was an outreach meeting, and the organizers expected 50-60 women. More than 70 showed up! The room was packed full. And what an evening it was. My interpreter was fantastic; I felt she conveyed my heart, not just my words, to the audience. The Gospel was clearly presented but asking for an outward indication of an inward decision is not culturally appropriate. We have no way of knowing whether anyone committed her life to following Christ, but He knows. I have to trust that if someone prayed to receive salvation through Him, He will care for her and provide her with the support she needs to grow in her new-found faith.

As I present these sessions on overcoming fear to these Polish women, I’m realizing that this message is soooo needed. Always, several gals speak with me after the meetings. They say the messages were exactly what they needed to hear. They say these spoken words are giving them courage to face their fears and hope to face the future. And they give me lots of kisses. Left cheek, right cheek, and left again. My heart is becoming more and more entwined with theirs.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Another travel day….back on the train again. We spent about three hours rattling down the tracks toward Warsaw, capital of Poland. Along the tracks approaching the city I saw homes barely bigger than a shoebox, looking broken and abandoned. Apparently these are homes where city dwellers come for weekends. They plant vegetable gardens on these wee plots of land. One Polish university student told us, “These vegetables must taste like iron!”

The moment our train pulled into the downtown station, our contact was there to meet us. She flagged a taxi and we headed for the home where we’d stay for the next three nights. It was 5:15 p.m. – rush hour. Ha! Who came up with that expression? It was anything but a rush; we sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic for more than an hour.

Immediately outside the station stood the Palace of Culture – the largest, fanciest structure I’ve ever seen. Our escort told us that it was built by the Russians after WWII, as a “gift” to the people of Poland. Its height and breadth intentionally stood to remind the Polish people of the Russians’ dominance. Even today, it towers over all other buildings in the downtown core. Its presence stirs mixed emotions among the city’s citizens. Some hate it because it reminds them of Communist rule. These folks want to raze it and build something else in its place. Others argue that it’s a piece of their history and needs to remain as a monument to what’s taken place in the past.

I’m realizing more and more that I need to read about the history of this country. There’s so much to learn. If I’m going to truly understand the needs and thinking of these precious people, I have to gain a better understanding of where they’ve come from.

Monday, March 10 -- Morning

I wake early this morning knowing this is the day my father’s life will be celebrated, and that I am not able to participate. How does one begin to process these emotions? There’s no easy answer. No answer that satisfies once for all. One thing was for sure – I refuse to sit alone and feel sorry for myself. Rather, I know God had planted me in Poland with several IM sisters for a reason beyond my comprehension, and regardless of the sad circumstances, this is a day that He had made. I choose to rejoice and be glad in it.

As a believer, I have every reason to celebrate and be glad. If my faith in Jesus Christ is true, then it’s only my dad’s earthly shell being lowered into a grave today. Because Jesus died and rose again, Dad is walking those golden streets and singing like he’s never sung before. That knowledge brings me a peace I cannot deny amidst the grief. Tears spring to my eyes at the mere thought of my family back home, gathering around the graveside this morning. I would desperately love to be with them and the multitude of relatives and friends who will attend the memorial service later in the day, but that’s not to be. I’ll spend the day with my IM family instead, thankful that I’m not alone during this time.

Later….

I’m grateful for Skype. Gene and I talked via typing for nearly an hour before anyone stirred in the house where I’m staying now. He told me that God protected him, our kids, and grandbaby Anna last night when the car in which they were driving hit black ice, slid into a concrete barrier on the roadside, and made three complete spins before coming to a stop. Protection on icy winter roads – another reason to celebrate.

I’m grateful for my IM sisters. Bozena (our hostess), Iwona, Diane, Janna, and I visited a modern shopping mall this morning, picked up a few groceries, and went for lunch to a little restaurant that specializes in perogies. I’ve visited Chinese restaurants in which friends order several different dishes and share them. That’s what we did here: meat and cheese perogies, meat only perogies, blueberry perogies, lazy perogies, and the list went on. Add a bowl of beet borscht, and the meal was complete. Then off we went, walking down the main street of Kelice toward Janna’s home.

It was on along this walk that I realized God had given this day to me as a gift. In the midst of my sorrow, He gave me laughter. Wholesome, hearty laughter. At first I wondered if laughing today would be an affront to my family. But then I realized that He was using it to carry me through difficult time. It wasn’t disrespectful to those grieving back in Canada. It was a dose of divine medicine. “Laughter does good like a medicine.”

Here’s one example. Until this point, my PIN number hadn’t worked in a cash machine. When I saw a machine on the outside wall of a corner bank, I decided to try again. Diane leaned in close to protect my privacy. I entered the four digits only to be rejected again as invalid. “Okay, then,” I said. “I have only one other number that might be a possibility.” I entered those four digits and presto! The machine sprang into action. Without giving it a thought, I blurted out something that resembled a loud “Yahoo!” In retrospect, it probably sounded like something a Las Vegas gambler might have hollered if he hit the jackpot.

Diane burst into fits of laughter. Her response sent me into fits of laughter, too. We turned from the machine to see Iwona walk away, pretending not to know us. Passersby gawked with puzzled expressions on their faces as we nearly doubled over. We weren’t meaning to be culturally inept, honestly, but for whatever reason, we simply couldn’t help ourselves. Yes, laughter works good like a medicine.

When we returned to the house later that evening, I’d hoped to watch my dad’s funeral on Skype. Gene and our son had tried to hook up a video camera to a laptop but their efforts didn’t work. Disappointment brought tears to my eyes again, but Diane and I redeemed the situation by spending time in prayer as my family gathered for the memorial service.

Wow – what an emotional journey. I’m so thankful for God’s presence and for His presents – my IM friends. This day was a remarkable gift.

Sunday, March 9

Bless Iwona’s heart – she showed up at the hostel this morning with smoked cheese and ham to put on our bread for breakfast. “I must care for the strangers in our land,” she said again. “God says so.” She’s doing a good job!

This morning we caught a train to Keilce where several other IM coworkers live. God has a way of sending angels to make sure we get to where we need to be. At the Cracow train station, we climbed three flights of stairs, dragging our luggage behind us, to reach the platform for our train. We’d just reached the platform when an announcement came over the loudspeaker saying that, for today only, this particular train would leave from a different platform. Thank goodness Iwona spoke Polish and understood the announcement. Diane and I would have missed it completely. So we raced (if that’s possible with tons of luggage) down the three flights of stairs and up another three flights. I was exhausted!

Just as we reached the train’s stairs, a man saw us struggling with our bags and stepped up to help. He grabbed our suitcases, climbed aboard the train, and placed them overhead in our compartment. “This is how I earn a living,” he said, so Iwona paid him and gave him a tract and a Bible. Another evidence of God’s caring for us as we travel.

Iwona and Diane on train. Note the tulips!

In a few hours we’ll head to another women’s meeting. And again, we trust the Lord to bless the women through us. I’m trusting Him to accomplish great things again. Tonight is the family visitation at the funeral home and I’m not there. “God, please don’t let this sacrifice be for naught.”

Saturday, March 8

What a day this turned out to be! The room filled with women of all ages – from mothers with nursing babies to little grannies. Iwona was delighted to see an elderly woman with whom she’d shared Christ a few days ago – a lady who’d given up hope for living. When I got up to speak, I felt as though the women weren’t sure what to expect. They’d come out of curiosity about the theme – “Fearless and Free” – but unsure about me as a North American woman bringing the message and about the message itself. I felt a little unsure, too, speaking through a translator to these women who live in a different culture and wondering about the relevance of my message to the specific needs in their lives.

It didn’t take long to see that the theme was the right one. When I listed various fears that women struggle with and then asked for a show of hands from those who could relate, many hands went up. As the women looked around the room, an expression of surprise went up. It seemed they were pleasantly surprised to see that they weren’t the only ones struggling in this way.

It also didn’t take long to see that the message about facing the storms in our lives was exactly what some needed to hear. Several women had tears running down their cheeks. There was a 15-minute break between session one and two, and during that time a couple of women came to speak with me. One spoke broken English. She handed me a handwritten note, also in broken English, that said, “I in storm for eight years. Divorce. Husband abuse my children.” She turned her back to the women behind her and her eyes filled with tears. She allowed me to give her a big hug and then pray for her. A woman with a broken heart – “God, please embrace her and be her refuge. Be her help in this time of trouble.”

By the time we reached the end of the third session, I knew the women felt comfortable. I presented the Gospel message and invited them to pray with me if they wanted to place their saving faith in Christ. I also asked them to take a piece of blank paper and write out the pain and shame from their past, and to give it to the Lord once for all by ripping it up. Within a couple of minutes, the sound of tearing paper could be heard across the room. What a joy to know that the Lord was working in their hearts. “Thank You, God, for beginning this good work in their lives. Please bring it to perfection. Amen.”

After the conference, Diane and I enjoyed dinner with three IM gals. What a joy to get to know them better. I pray that over time, as I get to know them better, I might bring encouragement to them in their ministries. And after dinner, Iwona took us to see a massive cathedral – it was an amazing structure. How does one describe it? I wish I could post a picture but taking photos was not allowed. Statues of the saints, gold filigree, intricate handpainted design on the ceiling, stained glass windows. Amazing architecture.

People were kneeling and praying. There was an attitude of reverence and quiet and yet, one can’t help but think of the human tradition on which their religion is based. It’s not about relationship. There was no joy on the people’s faces. “Lord, draw them to Yourself. Shine Your light into their hearts.”

And then Iwona took us to yet another restaurant for hot chocolate (thick, like drinking a melted dark chocolate candy bar) and fresh lemon torte. Oh my. There’s no way I can lose weight on this trip! After that, she said, “Come! I’ll show you where Copernicus went to university.” So off we went, down a narrow cobblestone street, to the very door through which Copernicus entered to study.

By the time we reached the hostel, Diane and I were so tired that we could hardly stand up. But that’s when heart-to-heart woman-talk began. She shared with me the details of losing her 26-year-old son to a brain aneurysm 11 years ago. Now I know why she’s responsible for missionary care. Her heart is so tender and caring. I’m in good hands at this time.

Friday, March 7

The sun beamed into Diane’s kitchen this morning, its smile promising balmy weather for our train ride to Poland later in the day. We were washing breakfast dishes when Karla, one of our Canadian IM partners, showed up for coffee. Ah – sweet fellowship with this dear woman who has spent the majority of her life ministering in Europe. She drove us to the train station, and our speaking tour began.















Diane, Karla, and myself at Kosice, Slovakia train station. Poland – here we come!

Nearly six hours passed as we trained our way through Slovakia and into Poland. Rolling hills, plowed fields, cathedral steeples, and red-roofed homes dotted the countryside. I felt like I was a part of the set for “The Sound of Music.” Julie Andrews and the von Trapp family singers could have waltzed over a hill and I wouldn’t have been surprised.

This trip was a God-given gift. I needed this time to rest and reflect about the circumstances surrounding my being here while my family’s in Canada planning my father’s funeral. The quiet enabled me to write something to Dad’s honor that my husband can read at the service.

Iwona, a Polish IM coworker, was waiting for us when our train arrived in Cracow. What a sweetheart. She flagged a taxi, took us to a hostel where we’d stay for the next two nights, and then unpacked the supper she’d prepared for us – Polish goulash and bread. “I must care for the strangers in our land,” she said. “God says so.” Then we walked about eight city blocks to the church building where women were busy preparing for tomorrow’s conference. They’d expected about 60 women to attend, but 110 have registered! I believe God is up to something big. There’s a huge sacrifice involved in this trip, and I believe with my whole heart that God will honor it with a wonderful eternal harvest.

Another IM coworker, Carol, joined Diane, Iwona, and me for a short walk to a favorite dessert restaurant. “You must try something here,” said Iwona. “There are many wonderful treats from which to choose.” She was right. How these European women can stay thin and trim is beyond me. Vanilla and strawberry ice cream doused topped with fresh strawberries and sauce, and smothered in real whipped cream – how’s that for bedtime snack?

By the time Diane and I walked to the hostel, we were very ready for bed. We prayed for the women who will come to the conference tomorrow and for my family and their needs, and then fell asleep.

Thursday, March 6

I’m so glad I’m a part of the family of God…..remember that Gaither goldie? Those lyrics describe how I feel right now. Yesterday afternoon my friend and fellow International Messenger, Diane, spent more than four hours riding a train from Slovakia to Hungary where she met me at the Budapest station. She threw her arms around me and gave me a huge hug. “It’s been a bad day,” she said, having received the news already about my dad’s death. Her eyes brimmed with tears. This woman, responsible for IM missionary care, is a God-given gift to me for such a time as this.

We had enough time to eat supper at Burger King before boarding the train for the ride back to Kosice, Slovakia. “Tell me about your dad,” she said. “What was he like before he got sick?” Bless her heart for listening as I told of Dad’s strong work ethic, of his many surgeries, of his attitude of gratitude no matter what. Bless her for listening with empathy, her eyes filling with tears when my voice cracked and chin quivered. I’m so glad I’m a part of the family of God and for the gift of caring sisters.

Thanks to a wonderful overseas phone plan, I was able to contact family members after we arrived at Diane’s home. It was good to speak with my mother and to hear of the funeral plans being made so far away. Oh, I wish I could be part of that, but it’s not to be. It was after 1 a.m. when I finally fell into bed, exhausted and wondering how I could get through the next 10 days.

When I woke this morning, I felt like I’d been run over by a train – a combination of lack of sleep, jet lag, and emotional overload, I think. So I gave myself permission to stay in bed and rest until 8:30. When I finally got up, I discovered gifts from my Christian family – emails that had come during the night. Words of encouragement, sympathy e-cards, prayers written on my behalf. Each one ministered to me in a unique way, and the tears began to flow. I feel like I’m on an emotional journey that I don’t want to take, but one that, prayerfully, will result in God’s purposes being accomplished.

Several weeks ago, Diane and I decided to leave this day as a day of rest. There was no way of knowing how much this would be needed. Another divinely-arranged detail. Tomorrow we’ll catch a train and travel to Cracow, Poland. And then the real work begins. Saturday’s conference had originally expected 60 women, but so far 110 have registered. As I think about doing three sessions with these precious women, I can only think of one thing: “In my weakness He is strong.”

March 2-3, 2008

Budapest, here I come! The day began when I rolled out of bed at 4:00 a.m. and headed for the Vancouver airport an hour later. My first flight was 4 ½ hours to Toronto, and after a mere 90-minute wait there, I boarded the next flight. This one took eight hours to reach Vienna.

The sun began to rise as we reached Ireland. It was an amazing sight – the entire horizon looked like it was on fire. By far the most breath-taking sunrise I’ve ever seen.

When I boarded in Toronto, there was no room for carry-on bags in the overhead compartments. The flight attendant took my bag, said she’d check it into the cargo hold, and I could pick it up in Budapest with my other suitcases. I felt a little uneasy about it, and for good reason. It didn’t show up in Budapest. My digital camera, my notes for all my speaking sessions, my toiletries…..gone. So, I filed a lost luggage claim at the Budapest airport, whispered a prayer for the bag’s safe return, and met the person who’d come to pick me up and take me to the SHARE conference.

On the way, I saw a park filled with statues of Communist leaders. These statues were salvaged from around Budapest after the wall fell in the late 80s. Now people pay to walk through the park and see them. I would have taken a picture for you, but the camera was in the lost bag. Sigh.

You haven’t lived until you’re the passenger in a car flying down a four-lane highway at 80-85 mph as the driver eats a hamburger. Combine that experience with jetlag, and you’ve got the makings for a few grey hairs.

Wednesday, March 5

I woke this morning with a thankful heart that my missing suitcase arrived last night! Now I have the notes for this morning’s session on praying Scripture.

When I went to the dining room for breakfast, the president of SHARE and his wife invited me to sit at their table. In the middle of breakfast, the conference organizer’s husband walked up to me with his cell phone in his hand. “It’s your husband,” he said, and handed me the phone.

I knew immediately what this meant. I could scarcely here Gene above the din in the dining room, but I caught him say, “Your dad passed away thirty minutes ago.” It wasn’t unexpected, but the news still carried a blow. I was so thankful that this couple had asked me to sit with them – they immediately offered their support and prayers, and she shed a few tears with me. Within the next hour, the word began to spread about my dad’s passing and people began offering their condolences. I was given the option of not teaching my workshop, but the only other choice would be sitting alone somewhere and feeling low. So, I chose to teach and it turned out okay. At the end, one man said that he wanted to pray for me, and that’s when the tears started to flow again.

I’m so thankful for the time I was able to spend with my dad two weeks ago, when he was still lucid. I was able to tell him that I love him, and he answered, “I love you, too.” I know he’s in heaven – at one point he said that he could see Jesus and it was beautiful “there.” I believe he’s walking and dancing in the Savior’s presence, his body whole again after being paralyzed by strokes eight years ago.

And now – I must process the fact that I’m here and my family is there during this time of grief. I’m on a journey for which I have no compass but the Lord to guide me one step at a time. My loss is great, my pain very real. I want to embrace my mom and other family members but can’t. “This doesn’t feel fair, God. You could have taken him while I was home so I could be a part of what’s happening there now. Why did You wait until two days after I left?”

This afternoon I’ll travel by train to Slovakia with an IM friend, Diane. Her specialty is missionary care. That’s good timing.

Tuesday, March 4

This conference has about 400 people from nearly 20 countries. The emphasis is on equipping parents to educate their children overseas. The program is like an oasis for these folks as they rekindle friendships with the friends they see only once a year. Blessings on them!

As I sat in the back of the morning’s chapel service, my heart was overwhelmed by the commitment to missions demonstrated here. Some of these folks have been on the mission field for a couple of decades, others for just a few years. All of them know what it means to sacrifice time with their parents and family back home. All of them know what it means to sacrifice financially. My heart just wants to bless them for doing what they do, and I want to help equip them more or just provide a listening ear and sympathetic shoulder.