A New Beginning and Goodbye to Sarajevo

Tara Canyon, Bosnia-Herzegovina

This trip with Operation Capitals of Europe (OCE) to Podgorica and Sarajevo has been an extraordinary one.  Like I said in yesterday’s post, Sarajevo is the halfway point—25^th of approximately 50 European capitals.  And Sarajevo calls itself The Heart of Europe.  It’s also the place where East and West meet in Europe.

Plus there has been a heavenly shift on this trip.  Prayer has gotten easier, the burdens lighter, and the work more fun.  We functioned more effectively as a team, despite past glitches with the issue of unity.  Our love and respect for one another has grown as we’ve come to recognize each other’s giftings—which brings us back to teamwork.  We’ve learned how to rely on each other’s strengths.  In Podgorica we were seven—four OCE regulars and three who joined us.  Here in Sarajevo we were 25 – 40, some only attended the meetings in the church, but several also came along to prayer walk with us.

Even with new people (and the locals, who are always new), this time we worked so well as a team.  Frankly, it’s a relief to know that I don’t have to carry the full burden of this ministry myself.  I know that I couldn’t do it alone.  So I work in my gifts and let the others work in theirs, and that way the burden is light for each of us.  But this is a remarkable group of people who don’t try either to self-promote or leave the whole burden on others.  Over the years and several trips together, we’ve learned when to come forward and when to step back and let another teammate do the work, and usually the locals blend in nicely, adding their prayers and prophecies in their own language.

So today was the 100^th anniversary of the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand and his wife, Sophie, here in Sarajevo.  We went down to the bridge where the shots were fired, arriving at 10:00.  There was a place in the street that was open for the team to enter, and once in, the crowd closed around us and many people walked through little gaps in our group of about 25.  One woman had made a flag of a lion roaring, and shared a vision of a roaring lion.  I had a vision of a lion stepping on the head of a dragon.  Different people took turns holding the flag, and almost as soon as we were in place, people started asking about the flag, and it became a wonderful opportunity to share the love of Jesus.  Even news reporters from different countries came up to us, asking about the flag.  I spoke with a reporter from Italy and another from Hungary.  A couple of reporters recorded us singing and dancing.  For the first time, I was completely uninhibited in public worship.  It was wonderful.  Then someone from the City of Sarajevo Museum drove up with the Archduke’s car, parked it in the middle of the crowd, and cordoned it off.

Then we walked to the fountain in the middle of the Old Town Square, prayed some more, and walked to the East-West divider, and prayed some more.  From there we walked, worshiping all along the way, to Parliament Square.  We said some final prayers there, and then said goodbye because almost everyone was leaving town immediately afterwards.  Many people from previous trips to the Balkans had joined us here, so it had been wonderful to see them, but sad to make our goodbyes.

Two of my OCE teammates and I remain in town for another day, so we went to lunch together.  Tomorrow I will take an early bus to Belgrade and fly back to Milan from there.  It will be a long day of travel after more than two weeks away from home.  Although I will be glad to get back home, it’s hard to leave my friends—co-workers in God’s Grand Plan to save Europe.  Our next trip will be in September, and the adventure will continue.  God is good!

 

Redeeming Sarajevo’s Bloody Past

The muddy river

So much about Sarajevo has amazed me.  First was Corrie’s personal story of war (The War—History Becomes Real), then we learned some surprising things.

Sarajevo is Operation Capitals of Europe’s 25^th capital out of an estimated 50—this marks the halfway point*.  And the interesting thing about that is that the tide is turning, so prayer has started to become much easier.  Places that you would expect to be hard places to pray (like Bosnia-Herzegovina, which has a Muslim majority) have become easier to pray in.  And sharing the Good News of Jesus Christ has never been easier.  Evangelism is not the focus of OCE, but when an opportunity to share the love of Jesus presents itself, we are faithful to do so.

In fact, we had a surprise this morning when a Muslim man from Bosnia’s most radical sect knocked on the door of the church and asked for someone to tell him about Jesus.  This was during our morning prayer and strategy session before prayer walking in the city.  The pastor of this church had answered the knock, and told the man about Jesus—which he received eagerly.

For me, the Muslim coming to church was a personal confirmation because just this morning, I was, oh well not really praying, but sort of musing in God’s presence about the seriously religious Muslims (which seem to be a minority here).  And God showed me that some of them are sincerely seeking Him—and of course, the Bible says that when we seek God, we will find Him (Jeremiah 29:13).

What we do is prophetic prayer, so it’s often accompanied by prophetic acts.  We pray as the Holy Spirit directs us.  So when we went out to prayer walk in the city, a young couple heard us praying by the river where it flows into the city.  One of our local believers noticed their interest, so he greeted them.  They asked about our prayers, and he explained about praying for the city.  They asked what we had thrown into the river.  And he explained that it was salt to purify the river, and how only the blood of Jesus can purify us and save us from our sin.  They were so happy that they started laughing.  The woman was fanning herself with her hand (Pentecostal-style!) and laughing.  So he made an appointment to see them tomorrow and promised to give them Bibles and a copy of the Jesus film.

In this land where death has reigned for so long, the Author of Life has come to bring life and hope.  Tomorrow is the 100^th anniversary of the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife—which happened here in Sarajevo.  I feel that Sarajevo has passed through a door, and today starts the true history of Sarajevo—a history of life and love and hope in Jesus Christ.  God is good!

* Nobody can say for certain exactly how many countries are in Europe because there are countries that are not universally recognized, like the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus (which is recognized only by itself and Turkey), Transnistria (which is recognized only by itself), Kosovo (recognized by all the world except Serbia), Wales, Scotland, and the Channel Islands (which are self-governing regions of the UK), the Faroe Islands (a self-governing region of Denmark), and all the countries that sort of straddle Europe and Asia: Turkey, Russia, and Georgia.

The War—History Becomes Real

Sarajevo War Museum

Greetings from Sarajevo!

Upon our arrival we were met by a missionary couple, Gerald and Corrie.  Gerald is American and Corrie is Dutch, but now an American citizen.  They took us to Old Town Sarajevo for an authentic Bosnian dinner.  After our delicious meal, we went for a Turkish coffee, but found the Turkish coffee shops full of noisy soccer fans because Bosnia was playing in the World Cup.  So we found a regular coffee shop.  Over coffee and dessert, Corrie told me their war story:

We were missionaries here for five years, and I had thought that we would always stay here.  We had three small children, the youngest two had been born here, and I was pregnant with the fourth.  We knew that war was a possibility, but the news media minimized the threat.  And besides that, they had signed the treaty, so we didn’t really think that it would happen.  But regardless, in war or peace, we were determined to stay.  We were young and the call of God for Sarajevo was so strong for both of us that really, we were in denial about the serious possibility of war.

Nevertheless, we needed to go back to the US to raise support and meet with our church, and the best time would be for two months beginning in April, so that we could be back for the summer because summer was an important time in our ministry.

Rachel, an American who had lived in Israel, had just come to help me with the children, and she would stay in the house while we were gone.  We went with two empty suitcases because there were many things that we couldn’t get in Sarajevo, so we intended to buy things to bring back.  We never imagined that we were leaving for good.  So we left and two weeks later, war broke out.

I felt so bad—almost guilty—for having left, though I know now that it was God’s plan to rescue our family.  I was concerned for our friends and neighbors, and of course for Rachel.  Contact was impossible, all communication was cut off.  On TV, we saw the tanks entering town in the very park where our children played.  It was surreal, and I tried to understand what I was seeing.

At this point shouting filled the street—Bosnia had won the soccer match, and the street quickly filled with flag-draped, cheering fans.  Corrie smiled at me, and continued:

Since we couldn’t come back to Sarajevo, we lived for seven years in the Netherlands, before finally moving to the US.  Gerald traveled back once a year, doing what he could here.

We visited Sarajevo after the war, not knowing what we would find.  Rachel, having lived in a war zone, had gotten herself out safely.  But our friends and neighbors?  Information was slow in coming, and in many cases, we never found out at all.  One family from the church had gotten out and moved to Germany, close to the border with the Netherlands, so we were able to visit them while we lived there.  We had heard about another couple from church who moved to the US.  And a friend who was also pregnant had been taken in the night to the hospital, and gave birth there by candlelight.

We found our house with the door and all the windows missing.  All our things had been taken, though we found a hand juicer in a corner, and the familiarity of the object was jarring.  Then I went upstairs and began screaming for Gerald.  All our family pictures were strewn all over the floor, taken out of the albums.  We gathered them like lost treasure.  Those were the only things, besides the washer, that remained—and the washer had been gutted for parts, like an abandoned car.  A few days later, we returned to the house and found that even the empty hull of the washer had been hauled off.

So our children grew up in the States.  Then last year, Gerald told me that he wants to move back to Sarajevo.  I didn’t feel ready to move back, leaving our children there (and a daughter in Holland) but after much prayer, I agreed, and we moved in August.

I was speechless at first.  It was a very sobering thing to arrive in Sarajevo and find that the house across the street from our lodgings with bullet holes all over the façade from when the soldiers with Kalashnikovs had sprayed the area with gunfire—especially knowing how recent that war was.  But it was another thing altogether to hear this personal story of war and God’s miraculous rescue of this family.  Imagine what might have happened if they had stayed.  They might have lost the baby (and mother!) or Gerald might have been killed.

And this morning, Corrie brought a friend to meet me.  She has been friends with Radosta for 26 years.  Radosta recalled with smiles how she had carried their youngest in a baby backpack through town.  Radosta would sing and the baby would lift her hands in praise.  Reuniting with Radosta had been a real joy and a blessing for Corrie.

God calls each of us into divine partnership with Him, and for those who answer His call (unless He has called them for martyrdom), He shields them and their family from harm.  God is good!

This had been the park where Corrie’s children had sledded down the hill.  Now it’s a cemetery for those who died in the war–including their first convert to Christianity.

Worshiping with Laughter in Podgorica

Titograd–AKA Podgorica

Greetings from Podgorica!

This morning, after a strategy meeting for prayer walking in Podgorica (the capital of Montenegro), we met with some missionaries over coffee.  They explained the particular challenges for the church here, which boiled down to suspicion and division.  They couldn’t stay long, so we prayed for them, and blessed them in their ministry here.

Meanwhile a couple of teammates went to talk and pray with a newspaper man (a Christian) who is a former minister in the government, and who likely could have a future role in the government of Montenegro.  The teammates who went to his office were one who has a special calling to pray for government, and the other is a missionary in Albania, and thus, the only teammate based in the Balkans.  By coincidence (or as I’ve recently heard it termed, “God-incidence”), both are Norwegian men.  The rest of the team went prayer walking in the center of the city.

Our walk took us down to the confluence of the small river that runs through the city center and a larger river.  It is a really beautiful spot on waters that are sparkling clear.  We found a small cave into which a small stage has been built.  But it looks as if the site has long been abandoned, and probably used as a teenage hangout for drinking and drug use.  The stage has been torn up and there is broken glass everywhere.  Nevertheless, the natural beauty of this place is undeniable.  We found there a couple of girls who had set up easels and were drawing.  The Holy Spirit spoke to us of this place as being a place of worship and the release of creative gifts.  So we included worship in our prayers there.  It was there that the Holy Spirit revealed hope to me.  I felt such hope for this city and this country.

Then one teammate told us of a statue that spoke to her of the powerful weapon that worship is against the enemy.  It is a statue of a man holding a guitar in one hand, with his other hand raised to Heaven, and under his feet is a skull.  So we went there for more prayer and worship.

On the way back through the city center, we were surprised to find our Norwegian teammates.  They told us that the half hour appointment with the newspaperman had been extended to 50 minutes because he was so interested in what they had to tell him.  They prayed for him, prophesied over him, and showed him things in the Bible that he found very encouraging.  Needless to say, they were likewise encouraged by the meeting.

At that time, we split up, some going for lunch, others for a rest.  Afterwards, we met again for a more formal debriefing of our morning’s adventures before beginning our afternoon adventure on the hill: Gorica.  Podgorica means underneath or at the foot of Gorica.  In the Communist Era, Podgorica had been renamed Titograd, for Tito, dictator of Yugoslavia—and the name remains in some parts of the city.

A little way up the hill is the tomb of the Unknown Soldier from World War II.  Honestly, it looks just like an altar.  From there, it is obvious that the Communists, despite protesting that that they worship no god is a lie because they worship death.  The tomb of the Unknown Soldier is an altar to death, and there had been a spirit of death that has reigned for a long time over this city.  Our Balkan teammates both felt headaches coming on as we mounted the steps to the tomb.  They prayed the headache away, and it left immediately.  So we used our God-given authority and broke the death spirit’s hold on this land.  We also sang a worship song, and the heavy atmosphere lifted.

Farther up the hill, closer to the top, we found a couple of benches which were great places overlooking the city.  So we rested there before continuing up the hill.  At the top, Gorica is flat, and from there we couldn’t look down on the city.  There at the top, I felt a headache coming on in a different place from the side where I had always gotten migraines.  It was clearly a spiritual attack, but I just prayed it away, and it left immediately.  We prayed some prayers at the top, repenting for the blood-guilt upon the land, and performing a prophetic act by pouring a little wine into the soil to cover the blood-guilt with the blood of Christ.

Then we went back to the benches to pray, prophesy, and proclaim over the city.  Again, I felt hope rising in my spirit for this country.

At the foot of the hill is the oldest church in Montenegro.  It had fallen into disrepair, but is now being repaired, and restored.  Behind the church is a graveyard, with stone sarcophagi, many of which lay open and empty.  One even had a tree growing out of it.  That is a strong symbol of resurrection, and resurrection brought to mind that repeated feeling of hope.

In the evening, we went to meet with local believers: a couple who are expecting their first child in a few weeks, and the husband’s mother.  We got together for the purpose of encouraging them, but also to worship together.  As we worshiped, laughter broke out, first in the husband, then spreading to all of us.  I prophesied a joy anointing upon them and their house, rippling out to all the neighbors and across the city.  Also, I prophesied that their baby girl will be a worshiper—which was immediately confirmed by the wife.

So this was an amazing day, full of hope and worship and laughter.  God is good!

The Prince bows to the King of Kings

The Millennium Cross – The biggest cross in the world (sorry Rio!)

On the schedule was an item that said Prince Philip of Prussia would speak.  I wasn’t sure if this was an actual prince or if he fancied himself a prince or if he had taken the name Prince like the singer.  In any case, I was curious.

At the appointed time, a thin, well-dressed man came to the stage.  It didn’t even occur to me that this might be the prince because he’s a man that you would never pick out of a group as being royalty of any kind.  In fact, he seems almost too humble and unprepossessing.

He introduced himself and his family tree (follow the link above, and you can read all that).  Prince Philip became a believer at the age of eighteen, and is now a pastor.  He spoke of his great-grandfather, William II (also known as Kaiser Wilhelm), and the start of World War I.  Although he was deeply shocked by the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand and his wife, it was a war he never wanted.  When you understand the family relations, you will understand why he didn’t want the war: he was the eldest and best-loved grandson of Queen Victoria.  In fact, the rulers of Russia, Spain, Norway, Romania, the Netherlands, Denmark, and Greece were all his family.  So it’s easy to understand why he didn’t want war in Europe.  But the generals insisted that it was necessary to respond to the assassination quickly and with power.  The tragedy is that William II was a believer, but he lacked the faith to seek God for the answer.

So because of his great-grandfather’s lack of faith, a war resulted with over 37 million military and civilian deaths.  And William II abdicated, opening the way for Hitler (obviously, I’m over-simplifying for the sake of brevity), and the deadliest war of all time, World War II, with an estimated 30 – 50 million military and civilian deaths.

Then came a moment when the whole hall was so silent that it seemed that we scarcely dared to draw a breath.  Prince Philip drew a deep breath and stated his desire to repent on behalf of his family for Europe’s bloodiest century, and asked our forgiveness before God.  I was sitting in the first row, and I don’t know if I was first, but I didn’t see anyone before me leap to their feet faster and begin clapping.  Then the whole hall was on their feet, clapping and clapping for several minutes.  The conference leaders went up on stage and surrounded Prince Philip, and the applause went on and on.  My hands were aching, but I could not stop.  I applauded his courage and integrity, and my willingness to forgive such a man.  And I wanted him to know that he is forgiven.  Well, obviously, he knows that God forgives, but I wanted him to know that I forgive, too.

Finally, the conference leaders each embraced Prince Philip, stating their forgiveness on behalf of their nations and their families.  It was one of the most moving moments I’ve ever witnessed, and I feel certain that it changed the spiritual atmosphere over Europe.  Now, I believe, Revival can happen here.  God is good!

 

Reset!

There he is!  Alexander of Macedonia!

When I arrived in Skopje yesterday after three hours in a bus on windy mountain roads, I was pleasantly surprised to immediately meet friends in the lobby of my hotel.  Then came the unpleasant surprise that the hotel had overbooked, so instead of a double with my good friend Fifi, I was put in a five bed dormitory room with four strangers.  But of course, I realized that God’s people here in Europe all know many of the same people, so even if we didn’t have a previous connection with each other, we know the same people, and were able to expand each other’s networks a bit.  So that helped me to reset my attitude from annoyed to interested in meeting my new roommates, each of whom was here for the very same purpose: attending the European Trumpet Call.

So, soon after arriving, I took a walk downtown with Lars and his family.  Lars is Norwegian, but he has lived in France for many years.  He has a French wife and has raised a family in France.  Joining us was their friend, Monica, and also with Gerda, who were two my four unexpected roommates.  Both Monica and Gerda had requested single rooms, so we were all in the same predicament.  Lars and I had been to Skopje before, so we showed them Skopje’s major cultural overkill in the form of too many statues too close to one another, and some of them much larger than usual, like the statue of Alexander the Great—or Alexander of Macedonia, as he is known here.

Lars had a leaders meeting to attend for the conference, so he left us to our sightseeing.  Gerda noted that she had not eaten since breakfast, so we went to a good cafeteria under the shopping mall in the center of town.  This is a place where you can get real Macedonian dishes at a very good price.

As we ate and talked, a man at a table nearby overheard French, and asked about where we are from.  We told him: Brigitte, Stella, and Monica (Lars’ wife, daughter, and friend), from France, Gerda, from Germany, and me from Italy.  As we finished our meal, we spoke about the conference and about prayer.  I noticed that the man listened intently to our conversation.  Then he asked if we had tried ajvar, a Macedonian salad made from roasted peppers, garlic, eggplant, and colored red from paprika.  So he ordered us a plate of it.  We all tried some, and it was delicious.  He said that sometimes it can be quite spicy.  I told him: “Fa-la,” which means thank you.  He corrected with a much longer phrase, saying that fa-la is actually Albanian (or Serbian?  I don’t remember now).  Nevertheless, I have found that whenever I say fa-la in Macedonia, people understand that I’m saying thank you.  Having by far the youngest brain among us, and being also the least travel-weary, Stella took a mini-lesson right there, learning a few useful words and phrases.

Stella used those words at our next destination: a Christian-owned ice cream shop.  We enjoyed our dessert, and now the conversation became mostly French.  I was so tired by now, from travel and walking, that I just listened to it like the lovely sound of water in a rocky stream.

When we got back to the hotel, I went to our room, where two other women had joined us—both of them from Germany.  So then, after a brief period of including Monica and me, the conversation became German.  That was fine with me, and I went to bed with the murmuring of German, and fell instantly asleep.

This morning I woke up feeling very rested, having slept an astonishing eight hours (astonishing for me!), and got a coffee in the breakfast room.  Despite having had a good night’s sleep, I woke up in a bad mood, thinking about what a terrible hotel it was for overbooking, and the dormitory room had no way to close the bathroom door because of not having a handle.

But during my prayer time, God gave me Colossians 3:1: “Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God,” (emphasis mine).  OK, thank You, Lord!  And I reset my mood from annoyed to grateful.  You know, I’m always happiest when I’m grateful.  I just need to remember to stay grateful.

The breakfast room filled up very fast, and Gerda, Katerina (one of our roommates), and Jillian (a friend I hadn’t expected to see here) all sat with me.  Katerina had been feeling ill last night, so I asked her if she was feeling better.  She had better color in her face this morning.  She shrugged and said, “Somewhat better.”  I told her that I would like to pray for her, and she said OK, but suggested that we wait until after breakfast.

After breakfast, Katerina was able to move into her single room, and in the meanwhile, I moved out of the dormitory room and left my suitcase at the front desk until my room would be ready.  I told them that I would move into my room during the lunch break.  Then I saw Katerina, and she invited me to her room to pray.  What I had thought would be a ten minute maximum prayer turned into a few hours, as I followed the leading of the Holy Spirit.  So I missed the morning session, but that was another reset.  I reset my schedule and priorities for the morning to do what God was leading me to do: pray for His daughter.

Katerina, three other friends who had just arrived, and I had lunch together in the hotel.  Then we went to change money and shop for things we had forgotten.  I needed toothpaste and mouthwash, having only packed the last bit of a larger tube.  That happens when you have one trip right after another.  I had neglected to check my supplies.  Then it was back to the hotel for a rest before the evening session.  And I found that Fifi had arrived.  I laid down and put my feet up as we caught up on each other’s travels and life.  Fifi’s travel schedule is pretty crazy, like mine, so we have a lot in common.

Halfway to the conference center (a fifteen minute walk from here), it began to rain—and not a little bit.  It rained buckets.  I had a small umbrella, which I shared with Fifi.  But we both wound up getting soaked anyway.  At the conference center I met many more friends—some that I had met in April when I had gone to Albania and Kosovo, and others that I had met years before, but had not seen since.  The evening session was worth getting wet for, and the walk back to the hotel was mercifully dry.

Then I did a dumb thing: I checked my email just before going to bed.  I got a message from my accountant, telling me that she needed some information that’s got to be turned in by June 30.  Of course, it’s information that I have back in Milan, but I won’t be back until the 29^th.  Normally, I try not to let stuff like this bother me, but at about 3 AM, the bars must have let out, and a big bunch of people were congregated under our window, talking loudly.  I tried to roll over and sleep through it, but then the message from the accountant started to add its voice.  So I got up and took my Bible into the bathroom (so as not to disturb Fifi).  And I repeated to myself God’s earlier message to me: “Set your mind on things above.”

But after praying and giving the worry to God, I opened my Bible, which “randomly” came open at Isaiah 33, and I read:

Those who walk righteously and speak what is right, who reject gain from extortion and keep their hands from accepting bribes, who stop their ears against plots of murder and shut their eyes against contemplating evil—they are the ones who will dwell on the heights, whose refuge will be the mountain fortress.  Their bread will be supplied, and water will not fail them.  Your eyes will see the king in his beauty and view a land that stretches afar.  In your thoughts you will ponder the former terror: “Where is that chief officer?  Where is the one who took the revenue?  Where is the officer in charge of the towers?”

Isaiah 33:15-18 (emphasis mine)

Needless to say, this was powerful reassurance (with a Rapture scenario included—“dwell on the heights”!).  So once again, I reset my mind from anxiety mode to rest.  God is good!

A Fun Day’s Work

Lake Ohrid

I have often commented that my work as a missionary doesn’t feel like work.  I mean, every job I’ve ever had, even if it started out pleasantly enough, has turned into a chore sooner or later.  But working for God started as very pleasant and agreeable, and grown to become fun and a passion.  Yesterday was no exception.

I met Jasmin after lunch, and she showed me around her town.  We saw shops and markets, ruins and churches, cafes and parks—and all that was very nice, and even fun to see.  But it was the other things that she showed me that really grabbed my heart: her friends.  First we met Rossa, a young woman who was on her way to work, but she told us that she needed to go to the park to get her head together first.  Jasmin confided to me (in love for her friend, and without any hint of judgment in her voice or manner) that she was probably stoned and needed to come down before she starts work.  Then she took me to meet Ana, but her shop was busy, so we didn’t stop.  As we walked on, we met Nico, who told us that he had just had coffee with Jasmin’s son, Kyle (who is in his twenties).  Then we said hi to Vlad, who sells jewelry and beads.  Jasmin laughingly calls Vlad a fellow hippie (despite his traditional clothing) because of his homemade jewelry stand on the corner.  Finally, we met Zoltan, the local philosopher (he calls philosophy a science!—Sorry, but having been married to a real scientist, I can just imagine how well that would be taken!  J).  We sat and had a coffee with Zoltan and met others who came by to say hi.

On our walk through town, we met some people who had stayed on after the Prayer Conference.  They had told Jasmin a few days ago that they were staying an extra day to do ministry here.  Immediately Jasmin was on the alert.  She asked if she could meet with them first, and they agreed.  She confided to me that she wanted to be sure that they weren’t going to go out and pass out tracts.  Tracts didn’t work well, even in their day, but now, and especially in the hard soil of the Balkans, it could undo everything that Jasmin has been working toward: friendship evangelism, which must begin with genuine friendship.  And friendship takes time.  But when we met them in the town square, they told us that they were prayer walking, and wanted to go to the top of the hill to pray over the town.  This news put Jasmin at ease.  Prayers are always welcome because prayer moves the hand of God.  So she showed them on the map how to get to the top of the hill, and we went our separate ways.

On and on through the town Jasmin and I walked, meeting people that she has been put here to love.  And love them she does!  As with Rossa, each person’s situation was explained to me without judgment, but rather full of love.  In fact, her whole family: Jasmin, her husband Rich, and Kyle, are all very kind, loving, relational people.  Most people respond to that love, with genuine affection for each of them.

And yet, despite their friendliness, they are not universally loved.  Their house is situated between the houses of two brothers on what used to be their little private harbor on the lake.  Many years ago someone came in and bought that tiny sliver of land between their houses and built over the harbor.  The brothers’ anger and hatred for that person has also transferred to each of that person’s renters, including Jasmin and her family.  As we approached her house, Jasmin went over to a car idling outside of a tiny garage.  She offered to close the garage door, so that the driver wouldn’t have to get out.  But it turns out that he was actually about to park the car.  Jasmine smiled and explained to me that he was one of the brothers, and that even if he had been heading out, he has never accepted even the smallest kindness or favor from them.  Nevertheless, she always has cookies baked to share with them, continues to offer to help, like with the garage door, and continues to love and pray for them.

Inside the house, I prayed with Jasmin and Rich for their family and for their ministry, and when I came to the situation with the brothers, I felt such compassion for them.  Imagine spending decades with hatred and bitterness flowing through your veins like a poison!  But as I prayed, God showed me that like a stalagmite that is built drip-by-drip-by-drip, a good relationship with the brothers will also build—and a good deal faster than a stalagmite.

Jasmin and Rich want to start an AA (alcohol and drug abuse) program here, and it is very much needed.  There are many cultural and legal barriers to be overcome, but I know that God can indeed overcome all barriers.  Through relationship building, they will also soon be accepted for this important work.

Jasmin, Rich, and Kyle were brought to Macedonia, to this little town, for exactly such a time as this.  They are the right people in the right place, even if they may seem (in fact, are) extremely different from the rest of the townspeople.  Their differentness will be used by God to great advantage in reaching people here with God’s love.

Jasmin said to me: “So this is what I do: I go around, have a coffee with this friend, go visit that friend, and then do it all again the next day.”  Jasmin (indeed Rich and Kyle, too) understands that relationships take time, and time is an investment.  I quoted that saying: “People don’t care what you know until they know that you care.”  And Jasmin agreed.  Here are people who are living that out day-by-day.  And once the barriers of language and culture and religion have been finally overcome, then people will be open to receive the wonderful hope that is found only in the Good News of Salvation in Jesus Christ.  God is good!

Speaking at Church

My gut clenches, sweat beads on my upper lip, my mind races is twelve different directions, my mouth goes dry, and my hands shake—why?  Because I’m speaking at my church this evening.  And it’s not because anybody has twisted my arm—I want to do this.  When I’m in the US, I want to speak as often as possible to anyone who will listen about Europe as a mission field.  But I’ve always had a fear of public speaking, and even though it usually goes really well, and the audience is very sympathetic and supportive, that fear is lurking just out of sight, ready to make my voice crack or make me forget what I was going to say.

Fear of speaking in public is one of the most common fears around.  Most of us would rather face a roaring lion, armed with nothing but a Twinkie than speak in front of an audience.  But like I said, I want to do this.  Facing-down this fear is the measure of how strong my calling is for Europe.  If I didn’t do this, I would feel like I had abandoned my calling.

Europe is the forgotten mission field.  A professor of foreign missions at Abilene Christian University told me that he asks his students at the beginning of the semester what is the mission field with the most need.  They invariably answer Africa.  Then after he has demonstrated to them that Africa is far more Christian than Europe, he will ask them again, and many times the answer is still Africa.  The economic need tugs at their heartstrings, even though Europe is in far worse need spiritually.  Operation World calls Europe by far the “most secular, least Christian” continent on earth (pg. 79).  Europe also has the most un-reached people groups of any region in the whole world—including the Middle East.  Africa is now sending missionaries to Europe.

• Slavery – Human trafficking is epidemic in Europe because the relaxed borders have made it easier to transport people from Eastern Europe (primarily Ukraine, Czech Republic, Moldova, and Romania) to Western Europe (Italy, France, Spain, the Netherlands, and Germany).
• Poverty – People think of Europe as a rich peoples’ playground.  And it’s true that rich people do vacation in Europe, but the average European makes far less money than the average American, and lives a simpler life.  Furthermore, the third world exists throughout Europe at the edge of every city: in gypsy camps of staggering poverty.  The gypsy children live in shockingly unsanitary conditions.  Many gypsy children are denied an education due to their nomadic family life.  Gypsy children are expected to bring money back to the patriarchs, the grandparents.  They beg, steal, or work as prostitutes to bring money back to the family, and if they fail to bring back money or to bring back enough money, they are beaten.  Sometimes their legs are broken and set in crazy ways that will turn your stomach.  Sometimes their legs are cut off—giving them more sympathetic appeal.   Many gypsy children are sold to sex traffickers or organ traffickers.
• Homelessness – Homelessness is a huge problem.  Budapest has an estimated 30,000 homeless people.  I saw lots of homeless people when I was there, and the homeless of Budapest are unlike homeless people I’ve ever seen anywhere else.  There are so many of them that they have simply lost all hope.  They don’t even ask for money, they just curl up in doorways and in the subway entrances.  (This is all recounted in my book, Look, Listen, Love.)
• Suicide – Suicide is rampant throughout Europe, especially in the current economic climate.  Fourteen of the top twenty countries with the highest suicide rates are in Europe.  Switzerland legalized suicide in 1941, and under Swiss law, you do not have to have a lethal diagnosis to ask for physician-assisted suicide; you don’t even have to be Swiss!  That means that if someone is depressed and wants to end their life, they can go to Switzerland, which is conveniently in the middle of the continent, and pay a doctor to help them kill themselves, and they don’t have to get any kind of counseling.  In fact, the doctors would be against counseling because they make money on each suicide.  Now suicide is also legal in the Netherlands. In Milan, where suicide is still illegal, and Switzerland is only an hour away, about once a month or so, somebody jumps in front of a speeding subway train.  In fact, it is such a common occurrence that people have lost all sympathy for the victim and his or her family, instead they just become annoyed at the inconvenience that the suicide has caused them as they rush through their day.
• Drugs – The city of Amsterdam is uniquely problematic because they have de-criminalized both prostitution and marijuana.  Legalizing pot use has been discussed from time to time here in the US.  The arguments for legalization seem very logical and reasonable, particularly when it comes to saving taxpayer money and law enforcement manpower.  But before getting onto the bandwagon, you should take a trip to Amsterdam to see what legalized pot use looks like.  Marijuana is only legal in the marijuana coffeehouses, but it doesn’t stay in the coffeehouses.  And because pot is legal, tourists think that other drugs are also legal—they are not.  No matter how harmless you may think it is, the fact is that marijuana is a gateway drug.  The dealers of illegal drugs situate themselves along the canal in the Red Light district (more about that in a moment) and peddle their drugs to passers-by.  They don’t stand around looking villainous, but instead they are very friendly.  The dealers speak English and often the major European languages.   Amsterdam is the number one partying destination in Europe, possibly in the world.  So lots of young men travel to Amsterdam for legal sex with prostitutes and legal marijuana use.  Many of them are lured into trying the harder drugs as well.  The result is that the streets of Amsterdam are filthy with trash and vomit and people that are either homeless or too high to remember how to get back to where they are staying.  The streets are also very loud all night long, with the sounds of hell-raising.  There are so many people who are addicted to heroin that the city has started giving out free needles to try and keep the risk of HIV transmission low.  So the parks are full of addicts that are shooting-up.  And the free needle program has done nothing to stop the spread of HIV.  Prostitution – Legalized prostitution in Amsterdam was supposed to help prevent the spread of HIV by having the Dutch Minister of Health responsible for making sure that all the window girls stayed healthy and conducted business in ways that reduced the possibility of transmission (i.e. washing the customers and using condoms).  However, that has turned out to be impossible to enforce.  Plus, the presence of legal prostitutes has not stopped or even slowed down illegal prostitution in the Netherlands.  Let’s face it, supply follows demand.
• The idea behind legalizing prostitution seemed like a good idea, but prostitution plays a part in all the above behaviors, like a European version of “what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,” but worse because of the whole drug issue discussed above.  People believe that the window girls are independent businesswomen—they are not—at least not all of them.  Many of the window girls come from other countries, mostly Eastern Europe and Africa.  Those girls got there because they answered ads for jobs, and some even paid intermediaries who turned out to be traffickers to get them illegally into Europe.  Few, if any, of them set out to work in prostitution.  Like I said, the relaxation of borders within the European Union has actually worked to the traffickers’ advantage.  And even if some of the women are voluntarily working in the windows of the Red Light district, they have invariably been sexually abused as children.  As a woman, I can tell you that no little girl dreams of having dozens of sweaty, smelly men use and use and use her all day and all night long.  Prostitutes use the same survival strategy that victims of physical abuse use: they have learned how to zone-out and not be in their bodies while it is happening.  Despite the lies that the johns tell themselves, that doesn’t sound like it’s something they enjoy, does it?  All of this means that Amsterdam, an otherwise lovely city, has become a haven for potheads, traffickers, drug dealers, and drug addicts.
• Cynicism – The young people of Europe are among the most hopeless and cynical in the world.  They go to university only to find that they are still unemployed and unemployable.  East European youth are leaving their homelands in droves, seeking employment in the west.  The employers take advantage of that desperation and pay them lower wages, and giving them the jobs that West Europeans don’t want.  Most of the janitors in Italy are Romanian, Bulgarian, Ukrainian, or Polish.  Because they feel powerless, the youth are drawn into witchcraft and satanism.  They recognize that there is genuine spiritual power therein, but don’t have the discernment to know the good from the evil.  Turin, Italy is the European capital for satanism.  Every so often, there is a ritually sacrificed body (either human or animal) found in the woods near Turin.  It has become such a common occurrence that the news agencies have stopped reporting these findings.  Many of these young people consider traditional religion a waste of time, and they don’t want to hear about anything of a religious nature.  For this reason, missionaries in Europe have had to be very creative in sharing the Gospel.

I could continue, but I think this post is long enough.  So, I take a deep breath, pray for at least an hour, and go pour my heart out for an hour or so about Europe.  Suddenly, I understand exactly what Jeremiah meant when he said that if he tries to keep silent, God’s Word is like a fire shut up in his bones.  God is good, and I want more missionaries to share His goodness with this lost and dying continent.

A Divine Appointment

Yesterday was a very full day of travel.  I started from Florence, where I had stayed the night with missionary friends, and went from there to the Abruzzo region on the Adriatic coast.  By choosing the less expensive, regional trains, I had to change trains twice.  The regional trains are less expensive because they are older and they stop in all the stations along the way.  So, travel which could have taken only a few hours, took six instead.  But the nice thing about slower travel is that I can catch a nice nap on the train, which I did.  I have learned not to fight the sleepy feeling if I don’t absolutely have to, and last night was a perfect example why.

When I arrived in Pescara, I went to the bus stop for the bus that would take me to the house of Bob and his family (Bob is the missionary there who I house-sat for during the last 2 summers—which you can read about in my book “Look, Listen, Love”).  I know other missionaries there, but because of the brevity of my visit, I hadn’t planned on visiting for more than a brief coffee or at least a phone call.  But God had other things in mind for me.

Not long ago, while I was still in North Carolina, I was inspired to start praying daily for divine appointments—both for myself and for my fellow missionaries.  As soon as I arrived I got a phone call from Betty, who had heard from Bob that I was arriving.  She and her husband are the other missionaries I had hoped to see, at least briefly.  She said, “Do you know Daisy of Rebirth Ministries?”  I told her that Daisy is a missionary I pray for daily, who I met at my home church in Milan a few years ago.  She told me that Daisy is in town for a women’s conference, and that if I wanted to go, she would come pick me up.  Of course I leapt at the opportunity.  I hadn’t seen Daisy for over a year, and had heard that she had moved to Rome.  This cut short my visit to Bob & his family, but we had a nice meal together and in our brief visit he caught me up on all the things that they are doing and things to be praying about.

Then after dinner, Betty, Daisy, and I went to the women’s conference.  Daisy is the founder of Rebirth Ministries, which helps stop domestic violence.  The focus of Rebirth is not only on educating and caring for women and children, but also on helping the abusers (which are not always men) to overcome rage issues and to find better ways of interacting than using fists.  Although the conference took place in a church, there were also women there, invited by friends, who were not believers.

Daisy shared her vision for Rebirth Ministries, and her personal story.  Daisy is from Argentina, and was twice widowed—one husband was one of the famed Desaparecidos “disappeared” persons, who was arrested and then simply vanished, never to be heard from again.  Alone, she raised two daughters and was called to Italy in 1994.  However, she didn’t immediately come to Italy, but prayed for Italy first, learned the language, and finished university.  During this time, the issue of domestic violence came to her attention.  When she put the call and the issue together, she understood why God wanted her in Italy, and so she came, forming Rebirth Ministries as a non-profit that meets in churches and schools throughout Italy.  The next step will likely be to bring Rebirth to the prisons.

In Italy, the danger of violence from strangers is very low, but domestic violence is unfortunately very high.  The police in bigger cities are beginning to respond to domestic calls, but in the small towns, they are still reluctant to interfere in “family” issues.  And even when the police arrest the abuser, the victim rarely maintains the courage to press charges, preferring to continue to try and make the marriage work.  In Italy, there is still a lot of shame attached to the issue of domestic violence because of the Catholic Church’s stance on divorce.  Italian women are encouraged by their priests to stay in abusive marriages, and often feel like failures if they cannot make the marriage work, make their husband stop drinking or using drugs, or stop seeking the company of other women.  And even among Protestant churches in Italy there is a lot of shame attached to divorce because the vast majority of Protestants in Italy are former Catholics.

One thing that Daisy shared was that many times when she speaks to groups like the one last night, someone invariably says, “But why Italy?  Surely domestic violence is a problem in Argentina, too.”  She admitted that it is, but much headway has been made in Argentina by others, whereas in Italy there is still much work to do.  As she spoke, I realized (not for the first time) that Daisy does have a true call to Italy.  She is being used mightily of God.

After Daisy spoke, Betty suggested that each person from the group give Daisy a brief word of feedback.  The overwhelming response was positive, and one young woman shared her story of abuse for the first time in her life.  It was very moving to see her tears, but also to hear the relief in her voice at finally being free to speak of it.  And the most beautiful thing of all was that this young woman was not a believer, but now that she has seen the love of Jesus in action, I have no doubt that she will make a decision for Christ.  Daisy spoke and prayed with her afterward, and arranged for follow-up counseling and care with the local church.

In a private moment I told Daisy about my personal observation that following Jesus always costs you something (He spoke of it in Matthew 19:29).  I told her that for me the cost is having left my adorable grandson.  But I encouraged her, saying, “But God always compensates me in the sweetest ways.  The first time I saw my grandson, when he was two months old, he laughed for the very first time—with his grandma!  And this visit, at eighteen months, he said ‘Grandma!’ for the very first time.  He sees his other grandma almost every day, but he called me Grandma first!”  Daisy was well able to relate because both of her daughters and all four of her grandchildren are far away in South America—the most recent was born two months premature just a week ago.  He weighs only one kilo—about two and a quarter pounds.  She is going to Brazil to visit Pedro, her newest grandson, next week.

From Russia with Love

Greetings from Berlin!  I just got back from Moscow, which is an amazing city.  It was everything I had heard, and nothing I could ever have imagined.  Our hosts were very kind and welcoming, grateful to have people coming to pray for their city and country.  They love and hate Moscow, tending to see themselves through a very ugly and distorted mirror, no doubt a legacy of Communist rule there.  I think this is probably why it was important for us, as outsiders from across Europe (and the US!) to come pray for and with them.

The pace of life in Moscow is astonishingly fast.  New York City is slow by comparison!  Moscow is the 5^th largest city in the world, with a population of more than 11.8 million—far ahead of New York, at number 19.  And it covers 969.5 square miles.  The Moscow Metro has 12 lines and 172 stations, serving more than 7 million passengers a day.  The metro trains travel at breakneck speed, and the distance between stations outside the city center is easily double that of the metro stations in New York or Milan.  The Muscovites walk much faster than any group of people I have ever encountered.  Normally I have no trouble keeping up, and often have to moderate my speed to match that of my companions, but not in Moscow.  This led to difficulties in the crush of people in the metro stations, where often people stepped between me and my guide.  He finally grabbed my bag, apparently believing it to blame for my inability to keep up.  Later he commented on how little I had brought with me.

Our first day there, October 22, was warm at 15 degrees Celsius (59 Fahrenheit).  The next day it dropped to 0 (32 F).  And there were snow flurries in the air throughout the day, but nothing on the ground.  Happily, I had come prepared for cold weather.

My hosts, Pasha and Lena, live on the outskirts of the city in a high-rise.  Near their building is a very modern looking glass building with many windows broken out.  Pasha told me that it had been built in 1990 as an office complex, but it was not built to code, and so it was never opened.  Perhaps the builders had hoped to bribe somebody into signing off on it, and lacked an amount sufficient to buy off the official.  That’s all my own speculation, however.  So the building has sat for over 20 years as a hulking eyesore to the neighborhood.  Despite the protective fencing, gangs of teens have entered and climbed up in it, using it as a place to party.  It staggers the imagination to think of the dangers that must exist inside:  open elevator shafts and crumbling stairs without banisters, for example.  And if you add alcohol and drugs you can get a very deadly combination indeed.  Pasha says that they have never demolished it because of lack of funds to do so, even though it sits on prime real estate near a metro station in a nice part of town.  It is all sadly typical of Eastern Europe.

And yet, all this contrasted with the grandeur of Red Square and the many beautiful cathedrals in the city.  Clearly Russians have an eye for beauty, be in architecture, such as St. Basil’s Cathedral and the many lavishly ornamented metro stations, or in arts like the nesting dolls or Faberge eggs, or in performing arts like the Bolshoi Ballet.  It is as if the Communists tried to tell the Russian people that they don’t need beauty.  Perhaps that a factor in the fall of Communism:  you can’t take beauty away from the people.

I love you, Russia!  I hope to return someday!  But in the meanwhile, never forget that God is good, and that He loves you!