God’s Favorite Kid

I have a friend that I often joke with, saying, “I’m God’s favorite kid.”  And the banter goes like this:

I’m God’s favorite kid because I’m the most blessed!

Oh, no you’re not!  I’m His favorite because I’m more blessed!

To which I reply: “No, I’m more blessed because He gave me you for a friend!”

And she replies: “You’re right, you are more blessed than me!”

Today was one of those days when I truly feel like I’m God’s favorite.  Of course, He doesn’t have favorites, but today it just felt that way.

After breakfast we met at the church and took a bus up the mountain to pray for Sofia from up there.  About 70 people from the local church joined us.  The participation of local people in these prayers for the capital cities is significant.

The mountain was covered with snow and there were people skiing and sledding all over the mountain top.  Nevertheless, it was sunny and much warmer on the mountain than back in Sofia.  So from our perch overlooking the city we prayed, proclaimed, and worshiped Jesus, the Lord of Sofia.  And we sealed the prayers with Holy Communion.

When we returned to Sofia we went to the Parliament building to pray for the new government, whoever they turn out to be (as you may recall, the government all resigned three days ago when our team arrived in town).  A policeman came to see what we were doing, and when we explained that we were praying for the government, he shrugged and walked off.  Several minutes later another policeman approached.  Two of our group walked over to meet him so that prayers could continue uninterrupted.  One of them, a pastor, explained what we were doing and asked the policeman if he could pray for him.  The policeman shrugged, but didn’t say no, so my pastor friend and the other man prayed for him.  The policeman remained skeptical.  He probably thought that we were crazy, but harmless, so he walked off.

Next to Parliament is the university, so we went to pray there.  Our host, Bill, had given some of us Bulgarian New Testaments, so one girl decided to do an important prophetic act and bury the Word of God right there on campus.  The only problem is that we didn’t have a shovel or any other kind of digging implements.  So we had to find ground soft enough to dig up with a stick.  The rest of us laughed about how silly this looked, and cracked jokes about how the Christian bookstores should sell shovels, too.  But once it was buried, we got back to the work of praying, and one topic for prayer at the university was abortion.  Bulgaria has 3 abortions for every live birth—imagine that!  Together with the 3^rd highest suicide rate in the world, no wonder the population is shrinking.

After all this, some of us were very hungry, having not had any lunch—me included.  There was a lot of discussion about where to eat, when to eat, and whether to eat together.  In the end, some went back to the hostel, while others went to eat.  Bill offered to take me to a big toy store.  I had told him that I always get my grandson a bear from every new country I visit, but I hadn’t had any luck finding a suitable bear in Bulgaria yet.  All the bears I had seen so far had scary eyes.  I can’t give my grandson a bear with scary eyes!  So we went to the toy store, and I found a great bear right away.

Then Bill asked me what I wanted to do next.  I told him that I hadn’t had lunch, so I wanted some dinner.  He was very pleased when I said that I wanted to have some typical Bulgarian food.  So he called Vasha, his wife, and they discussed where to take me.  She was just getting off work, so she would be joining us.  They took me to a place that was typically Bulgarian in décor, in food, and in music—wonderful!

They asked me a few times what I was hungry for, but I just insisted on typical foods.  Bill was so happy for the opportunity to share some of his favorite dishes from childhood.  He insisted on getting a few dishes to share, knowing that it would be far more food than we could possibly eat.  Vasha told me that later I would probably see people dancing the Horo.  Which I did!  There was a birthday party across the room, and when the band played the Horo music, the women all got up, laced arms, and danced in a circle.

Bill kept asking me what I was smiling about.  I just said, “I’m so happy!”  Today, I’m convinced: I’m God’s favorite!  God is good!

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.

A Heartbreakingly Beautiful Girl

When Clara (the pastor’s wife and my hostess) tells me the ugly truths about life in Romania her voice and face are drained of all emotion, while mine are breaking up from emotions that can’t be contained.  That is how she told me about Sandy.  Clara and Leo have four children, and care for two other girls.  I had met one of them, Ruth, last year.  Ruth’s parents left her with her grandmother while they were divorcing.  When each parent re-married, neither wanted Ruth, so she stayed with her grandmother until the grandmother’s death.  At the time of the grandmother’s death, Ruth was six years old, and both parents had children with their new spouses.  Clara and Leo took her in.  The parents visit Ruth periodically, but Clara and Leo have legal guardianship of her.

When I heard Ruth’s story last year, I wondered how heartless people could be toward their own child—until this morning when I heard Sandy’s story.  Clara and Leo took Sandy into their home on weekends two years ago after her mother died and her father left her with her grandmother.  Clara asked about the mother’s death and learned that she had been forced into prostitution by her husband, and had died after a few years.  She didn’t say what she had died of, but considering all the risks of prostitution it could be anything:  AIDS or another STD, a drug overdose, murder, or suicide.  Clara didn’t say, but it really doesn’t matter, it was a result of prostitution.

When she saw the look on my face, Clara said, “I don’t know if he tried to get work or just wanted the easy way.”  I marveled at her refusal to judge a man who had prostituted the mother of his children.  She went on to tell me that the grandmother is in poor health, and that Sandy has a handicapped brother, so she helps them after school, but stays with Clara and Leo on the weekends so that she can go to church and have a chance to be a kid.  Knowing Clara the way I do, she probably also gives the grandmother money to help buy groceries and pay the bills.

But I wasn’t prepared for what came next.  Clara told me that she worries about Sandy’s dad returning to take her and sell her into prostitution because she’s tall and pretty like her mother was.  Sandy is twelve years old.

Again my face betrayed me.  Clara shrugged and said, “This is a common story in Romania.”  She said that some of the older girls from church send her notes, asking her and Leo to pray for them.  They respond to advertisements for well-paying summer jobs in Budapest, and go with their parents’ blessing.  Then when they arrive they learn that the work is prostitution.  Too ashamed to tell their parents, they work as prostitutes for the summer, then come back home with much-needed money for the family, and resume normal life as a student.  The notes always end the same way: begging Clara and Leo not to tell their parents.

Last year I had asked Clara about the issue of human trafficking.  I had heard that Romania is one of the places where the women enslaved into prostitution come from.  She told me about a little girl from their little city, Biberon: Christina was a pretty little blonde with blue eyes who her daughter, Elizabeth, knew from school.  One day Christina was walking home from school with a friend.  Just two blocks from home a man in a car pulled up to the curb and with urgency in his voice said to Christina, “Hurry! Get in the car!  Your mother sent me to get you!”  She got into the car and has never been seen or heard from again.  Christina’s friend hadn’t thought to notice anything about the man or his car because she had also believed his story.  This happened two years ago, when Christina was only ten years old.  Most likely Christina has been raped, beaten, and trafficked to a country in Western Europe because she doesn’t need a passport to move about within the European Union.

Human trafficking is a multi-billion dollar a year industry, and slavery is illegal in virtually every country in the world.  There are estimated to be more slaves today than in all the years of human history added together.  And if you think it’s not happening where you live, think again.  Check out your hometown on the slavery map:  http://www.notforsalecampaign.org/.  To read more about human trafficking, see: http://humantrafficking.org/.

“All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.”  Edmund Burke