Leaving Kalisz

How in the world did a week go by so quickly?  It seems like we had just arrived, and then it was suddenly the last day of the feast.  The last worship session was marked as Poland, but involved each country’s worship group.  Throughout the week, our musical men (Giuseppe, Roberto, and Daniele) were asked to support other groups: Czech Republic, Germany, Russia, and England.  And they did.  Of all the people at the Feast of Tabernacles, the only ones who worked harder than our three guys were our hosts, who cooked, cleaned, set up the sound, and helped in a thousand different ways throughout the week, and at all hours.

During the last session, they were asked to help Czech Republic and Germany, and then Poland took the platform again.  I went to speak to the musical organizer because Italy hadn’t gotten an opportunity to do a last song.  He said, “Yes, but they got the chance to play.”  I said, “But only supporting, not as Italy.”  He told me it was too late.  I went back to where our group was sitting, I was too sad to even give them the bad news, only Felicity, who gave me a hug.  About a minute later, the musical organizer came up behind me and said, “OK, you have the chance to play one song.”  So we went onto the platform, to the astonishment of the Polish performers, who thought it was theirs for the rest of the hour.  They graciously stepped down and we did one last song.  After that we all took Communion together as the Polish team performed a quiet worship song.  Then we all sang together in joyful worship.

We had one last dinner together, and said our goodbyes.  It was so hard to say goodbye to everyone, hard to believe that the week was done.  We had a harrowing two-hour ride to the airport the next morning, at high speed on narrow two-lane roads most of the way, with big trucks, rain, and passing two or three cars at a time.  Each of us had a unique reaction to the drive:  Felicity was in the front seat, enjoying the speed.  I was in the back seat, thankful to know where I’m going if this is my time.  Bethany was next to me, hanging on for dear life, unwilling to glance toward the windshield, and praying in tongues.

The thing that has remained with me has been the very tangible presence of God.  This morning, having returned to Italy, I woke up at about 4 AM, and prayed for about three hours.  Yes, there is something so addictive (in a good way!) about the presence of God.  I love being in His presence so much that I just don’t want to leave.  So with God’s help I want to continue a practice of praying even more each day—three, four, or more hours.  God is good!

A Travel Promise from Father God

Yesterday and today could have been very difficult travel days, indeed.  I had bought my round-trip tickets to Malta separately from my round-trip tickets to Rome.  I had planned a 4 hour layover to claim my bag and check in to my other flight.  If anything went wrong with my Malta flight, it could have cost me the flight back to Milan.  (Remember my post from April titled Six Hours Late?)

Likewise, the potential for problems loomed for today’s travel.  I will be meeting Nina at the airport after she drops off her son’s fiancée at another airport.  If there is a traffic snarl or something goes wrong, and Nina doesn’t get there in time, what do I do?  Go ahead and check in?  Give up my ticket and wait?  And Buck will be meeting us at the airport in Sofia, and driving us to The Promised Land Complex, about 2 ½ hours away.

Such travel plans fraught with possibilities for problems used to keep me awake at night.  But this time I prayed about it, and decided to leave it all in God’s hands whatever happens.  I slept very well both nights, and yesterday morning before traveling, God told me very clearly that His message to me for the day’s travel is Psalm 81:6, “I removed the burden from their shoulders; their hands were set free from the basket.”  God is promising to carry my luggage for me because I’ve let go of my baggage.  By that I mean that since I decided to just trust Him, He is promising to take care of me the whole way.

Your might be wondering what is today’s travel promise from God.  Proverbs 3:6, “In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make straight your paths.”

And He has!  God is good!  Whatever comes, God is good!

The Poster Child for Communism

The missionaries I came to meet with, Ted and Carol, picked me up at Budapest airport and drove me to their home about an hour and a half away.  They live in a former mining town in Hungary.  Their town’s people were the “poster children” for Communism because the workers were miners.  Miners have big muscles, so they were celebrated in pictures and sculpture shirtlessly embodying the Communist ideal.  The Communist dictators treated them very well because they were the poster children.  So the town’s infrastructure was far better than most of the rest of Hungary.

This is the pretty town square viewed from T & C’s window

When Communism collapsed, there was joy all over Hungary—except for this town.  They had lost their celebrity status and all the perks that come with it: the finest housing, cars, the best food, good schools for their children, etc.  For them freedom meant learning how to scrape their resources together, working at whatever jobs they could find when the mine closed.  Many in this town are nostalgic about the “good old days of Communism.”

Having arrived Saturday night, I had missed the gypsy Bible study (see Six Hours Late).  But I did get to hear Ted preach.  Over breakfast this morning I had mentioned the paralytic at the pool of Bethesda (John 5:1-6) in conversation about how God is moving among the Italian Catholics (see Touching the Hem of His Garment).  Ted said, “Guess what scripture I’m preaching about!”  Yup!  John 5:1-6.  His sermon was really good, teaching me something new that I had never considered before.

Jesus had approached the paralytic and no one else.  Why?  Perhaps because everyone else had someone there to help them into the waters when they rippled.  Ted said that it was strange that this man was alone.  Jesus asked him a strange question, one I had always wondered about: “Do you want to be healed?”  Of course He knew the answer, but it gave the man the opportunity to reveal something about his own character.  He complained that there was no one to help him into the water.  And even when he had been healed, he “blamed” Jesus because He had told the man to carry his bed home—in other words, to work on the Sabbath.  And after he saw Jesus again, he ran to the authorities and told them that it was Jesus.  Not one word of gratitude for his miraculous and life-changing healing.  This guy had some definite character issues, which is something I had never really thought about before.

After church we walked around town a bit, returned home, and prayed together.  Ted and Carol mostly work with gypsies, doing CHE, Community Health Evangelism.  The CHE concept is great.  It involves health, but not only the health of the body, but of the whole person: body, soul (mental/emotional), and spirit.  I love the holistic approach, and it is so desperately needed in the gypsy communities of Europe.  The gypsies are the most receptive of all Europeans when it comes to the Gospel message.  They grab it with both hands.  So we prayed together for them, for their family, and for their ministry.

And I pray daily for the Lord of the Harvest to send more workers for this mission field.  The harvest is ripe, but the workers are few.  If you are interested in missions in Europe, whether with gypsies or not, check out GoMissions.

God is good!  Working with God is great!  He’s the best Boss ever, and the retirement plan is out of this world!

Gotcha! Part 2

My re-conversion story continues . . .

One day Della, my backdoor neighbor, invited me to come with her on a weekend trip to Richmond, Virginia for a business convention.  Durham to Richmond is only about 4 hours away, and with a 15-year-old and a 2-year-old in the house, I was ready for a getaway.  In the car, Della asked me why I was an atheist.  I knew that she was a Christian, so I told her about the babies and Phillip’s death; and I braced myself for the argument that I was sure was to come.  But it didn’t.  She listened respectfully and did not try to argue with me.  Della’s stock went way up in my book.  I didn’t know that it was even possible for a Christian not to argue about matters of faith (or lack thereof).

We had a nice weekend in which I heard lots of motivational speakers in a festive atmosphere at the Richmond Civic Center.  Then on Sunday morning Della checked us out of the hotel and announced that we were going to church.  I was furious.  “Didn’t you even hear what I said in the car?” I sputtered.  As we pulled up to the Civic Center she shrugged and said, “You can stay out here if you want to.”  I looked down the street and there was nothing open, nothing to do, and no people around.  I looked the other way down the street and it was the same thing—nothing at all to do for the next 2 hours.  So I went in with her, telling myself that this would absolutely be the last time I would ever go to church as long as I lived.  The music was 1970’s gospel rock and soul that I recognized from when I first became a born-again Christian.  They were playing songs from The Imperials, Keith Green, The Bill Gaither Trio, and Andre Crouch—songs I knew and loved.

As we found our seats, I was feeling relaxed because of the music.  The Civic Center was oval shaped, with theater seats.  There was no more than an inch of space between my knees and the seat in front of me.  Della was sitting to my right.  On my left there was an empty seat and then a couple, Fred and Joanne Smith, by the aisle.  The Smiths were friends of Della’s.  The business leader was behind a podium positioned at one end of the oval to my left, which means my head was turned left (toward the empty seat) to see him.

He gave a very entry-level sermon, starting with how Jesus had fulfilled every single one of the Old Testament prophecies.  He went on to illustrate how against the odds that was by saying that it would be like covering the entire state of Texas with silver dollars, marking one, tossing it into the state at random, and having someone blindfolded find the marked silver dollar.  I had heard this before, and being from Texas, I know very well just how enormous Texas is.  See how God set things up, with the music and including Texas in the sermon?  I smugly looked around, thinking that these other people were probably hearing this for the very first time, but I already knew it.

Then he talked about how the New Testament prophecies are being fulfilled today.  I had heard this before, too, and it made me very nervous.  To be honest, I had always believed that Jesus would return to rapture the Church during my lifetime—but I didn’t know if I would be ready or not.  I started thinking about what it would be like to be left behind, and it made me tremble.  And hell?  Well, I just refused to even entertain that thought, though I was aware of it.

Then to my very great relief, he gave an altar call, and I sighed.  It’s almost over!  That’s when I felt a hand—3 fingers—touch me on the left shoulder.  With my head turned in that direction and an empty seat beside me, I can say without a doubt, it was no human hand.  That touch set off a wave of power that crossed my body and had a definite back-slosh.  It got my attention.  Then I heard as an audible voice in my head: “Get up and come on.”  In my head I argued: “But I don’t believe in You!”  Obviously, I knew whose voice it was.  The Bible says that His sheep know His voice.  He didn’t say anything else.  He didn’t have to!

What happened next, I can only imagine, is that He must have stopped time for me as I struggled with the decision.  What went on in my head was something like this:

Wow!  This is God!

But I don’t want to go back to Christianity.

This is God!

But my life would have to change. . .

He loves me!

But I don’t want to change my life.

I don’t deserve His love!  (What I kept coming back to was that love.)

If I say no to Him, He will respect it and leave me alone.  (That thought rang in my head as clear as a bell.)

But if I say no it might be my last chance ever.

And that was the thought that pushed me over the edge.  I made my decision, and amazingly, the altar call was continuing, though it seemed to me like half an hour had passed.  In my head I pointed out to God that the Smiths were between me and the aisle (remember the space was very tight).  As soon as that thought entered my head they stood up and I don’t know where they went, they just vanished.  Then I ran to the altar, hoping that I wasn’t too late because I was sure that a lot of time had passed.  There at the altar I rededicated my life to Jesus.

When I came back to my seat, Della’s face was covered in tears.

In the car on the way home, I asked Della where the Smiths had gone.  She said, “They didn’t go anywhere.”

“No!  They got up and left as soon as I decided to go to the altar.”  She repeated, “They didn’t go anywhere.”

“No, no, no!  They got up and left.  Ask them where they went.”  She shrugged.  About a week later, Della told me that the Smiths told her they never went anywhere.  I have no idea how I got by them so easily if they were there all the time, but it looks like God really cleared the way for me.  In fact, all along the way, He orchestrated every detail to make it easier and more desirable for me to say yes to Him.  God had invited me back at the very first moment when I was ready to return to Him—before I even knew it myself!

If you have someone you love that has walked away from the Lord, take encouragement from my story.  God knows exactly when and how to reach that person.  Don’t damage your relationship by always harping on their need to change or return to God.  Instead, pray prayers of faith and let your life speak to them of God’s great love and acceptance.  Loving and accepting them doesn’t mean that you love and accept their sin.  But remember that Jesus died for us while we were yet sinners, (Romans 5:8).  He is patiently waiting for just the right time to invite them back.  God is good!

Road Trip!

Traditional Bulgarian appetizer plate

After church this morning we had lunch at a Chinese restaurant owned by a man from the church.  The food was really good, some of the best I’ve ever had.  I joked with Bill and Vasha about it being traditional Bulgarian Chinese food.

Then after lunch we divided the team up into 3 cars and headed for Macedonia.  On the road we told each other true stories of our lives: funny stories and stories of God’s amazing faithfulness and provision.  One story led to another, with each of us encouraging the others by our personal accounts of God’s help.  In this way, the miles flew by and friendships grew stronger.

We arrived in Skopje in a rainstorm.  The hostel had misbooked the rooms, and I noticed that the people who had ridden in the other cars were irritable and unhappy about it.  With some arranging and rearranging, the rooms were eventually worked out.  One person said that the irritability could be a spiritual thing about Skopje.  Maybe, but if so, then the conversation in our car was the vaccination against irritability.

Leann is a girl who likes to eat real food—as opposed to sandwiches or crackers for dinner.  I agree.  So the two of us went out in search of a real meal, although I wasn’t so hungry.  We had gone out like this before, in Warsaw and again in Prague, and had developed a special bond because of it.  We found a restaurant at the end of the block, but they said that their credit card machine wasn’t working.  The cash machine around the corner solved our lack-of-Dinar problem, and we returned to the restaurant.  Leann had gnocchi in cream sauce and I had a lovely chicken soup.

During these trips we spend so much time with the whole group that it’s nice to get off in a pair like this and have a real conversation.  When we got back to the hostel we met the local coordinator, Keith.  I know more or less what to expect, having been on several trips with OCE, but since each capital city is unique, there is always something different.  We’ll see what Skopje is all about in the next couple of days.  God is good!

My Troublesome Self

Friends, when life gets really difficult, don’t jump to the conclusion that God isn’t on the job. Instead, be glad that you are in the very thick of what Christ experienced. This is a spiritual refining process, with glory just around the corner.  1 Peter 4:12-13

Greetings from Asheville, North Carolina!

Asheville is up in the Blue Ridge Mountains, and Bellavista, Mom’s retirement residence, is built into the side of a hill.  Because of its placement in the hillside, parking is frequently an issue, especially during holidays when family members come to visit.

When I’m in the US, I live here at Bellavista with Mom, which is a very good arrangement for both of us.  There are a lot of nice people at Bellavista.  In fact, the majority of the people here are very nice, indeed, and Mom and I are friends with almost all of them.  But there are also a few cranks.

One in particular is always crabbing at me for this or that.  Yesterday he accosted me in the dining room and told me: “You parked in my parking place!  You’re young and healthy, and you should park at the top of the hill and leave these parking places for the people who don’t get around so well.”

The management has said again and again that there are no assigned parking spaces here, and of course, I hadn’t parked in a handicapped space.  I often drive Mom’s car, but I never park in a handicapped space if she is not in the car with me.  Plus this man walks without assistance, not even a cane, so mobility is not the real issue for him.  But rather than point that out to him, I just said, “Sorry, I didn’t know that it was your space.”

This man’s crankiness is famous throughout Bellavista.  Mom and another friend sat at a table by the fireplace in the dining room once, and he told her: “We always sit here.”  Knowing that there are no assigned tables, Mom smiled and said, “Well, have a seat!”  That, of course, made him furious and he went to sit at another table

When I told her about the parking thing, Mom went and asked the director for clarification.  The director confirmed that there are no assigned parking spaces, but that priority goes to residents—of which I am one.  Mom turned to me and said: “We’re not moving the car!”  So the car stayed where it was, close to the front door, overnight.

When I woke up this morning, my spirit spoke to me about what Jesus would do in this situation.  I knew:  Jesus would have parked at the top of the hill to begin with, being always considerate of others.  But I don’t want it to look like I’m catering to his bossy demands.  I knew that I should immediately move the car, but I didn’t want him to get that parking spot, hoping that someone else would get it, instead.

As I struggled with myself, I realized that the problem isn’t the cranky old man.  The problem is me.  Two years ago when I was back in Milan after a three year absence, I quickly became reacquainted with how rude people in the big city can be.  In particular, it seemed like more and more people were pushing to get onto buses and subway cars, without first letting passengers get off.  So I started gently pushing people out of my way when they tried to get on while I was getting off, grumbling to myself all the while.  Then the Holy Spirit told me: “It’s not your job to teach people manners.  You need to be an Ambassador of Christ, even in these situations.”

Remembering that lesson from Milan, I realized that it’s also not my job to teach manners to this man, but to be an Ambassador of Christ.  And what that means is to die to self.  The trouble with self is that I’ve lived with myself for such a long time.  I like myself.  I like getting my own way.  But getting my own way is often in direct conflict with obedience.

Obedience requires that I die to myself, pick up my cross daily and follow Jesus Christ.  I’ve been a Christian for 45 years, and I still struggle with selfish desires.  After all these years, I know that self dies hard.  Self dies one of those opera deaths—you know, the kind that keeps singing for another ten minutes, flopping and flailing about on the stage.  And just when you think it’s really dead, it comes back for an encore and another ten minute song.

 

Flying Cars? Not Exactly!

Greetings from Warsaw!  I have a nice, long layover between flights—six hours, to be exact!  So I bought some cards, grabbed a table, and wrote a few letters, including birthday greetings for my son.  As I sat there, a couple of airport police whizzed by on Segways.  They went to a door, opened it, and ducking their heads, went through.  I wondered if they had any idea how silly they look.  A few minutes later a couple of maintenance men also whizzed by on Segways and ducked through another door.

When I was a kid, we were sure that there would be flying cars by the year 2000.  Maybe we got that idea from watching The Jetsons on TV, but sitting there with Segways buzzing around me, suddenly I felt cheated.  The future was supposed to be so cool!  What happened?  I think that if we had known how lame the future would actually turn out to be, someone somewhere would have stubbed out his doobie and gotten to work inventing flying cars.  Am I saying that some pothead could have invented flying cars?  No way!  I think that the person who could have invented the flying car let his brain go up in smoke instead, so now we are living in that lame alternate future where the coolest transport we can manage is a Segway.  Bummer!