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!

Buckaroo

Greetings from Bulgaria!

As my plane was landing, I could see that Sofia is a beautiful city, and seeing it on the ground confirmed what I had seen from the air.  I am staying with Buck and Nadia, pastors who God had led to leave their church and town to move three hours away to Sofia, but not to start another church.  What they had always done is church planting, but here God is calling out of their comfort zone.  While they are wondering what to do, Nadia has been working prostitutes and other trafficked people.

I met Nadia at a conference in Estonia in October, and we had hit it off.  So when Operation Capitals of Europe set Sofia as their next capital, I contacted Nadia.  She invited me to come for a few days before the start of OCE.  I think this was divine timing.

Last night Buck and Nadia had some friends over and invited me to a Christian musical that had been locally written and produced.  The friends are a couple: Anya is Bulgarian and Sasha (which is a male name) is Russian, and they are both dancers.  The conversation was mostly in Bulgarian.  My ears grasped at a few familiar sounding words, but mostly it sounded very much like Russian.  Buck ordered pizza from Domino’s, and I saw pretty much everyone put ketchup or mustard on their pizza—even my fellow Texan!  I tried mustard on mine, and it was really good!  I would never put mustard on an Italian pizza, but it’s good on American pizza.

Seeing that my plate was empty, Buck asked me if I wanted another slice, to which I responded, “No, I’m good.”  He laughed about how funny it is to say “I’m good” when refusing seconds.  I told him about trying to explain the Texanism “fixin to” to non-Texans, and how I had had to train myself to use the more universally understood “I’m getting ready to.”  He laughed.  He could relate.  Now I keep hearing myself saying “I’m good,” when I had always said it unconsciously.  But as I thought about it, it’s kind of a nice affirmation to say about myself several times a day.  I am good!

The musical was called “John, Son of Thunder.”  Of course, it was all in Bulgarian, and set in modern times, but it wasn’t hard to follow along, since I have read the Gospels.  The music and dancing were really great, and the set design was imaginative.  The audience was most of the spectrum of Sofia’s Christian community, and they pretty much all know each other.  I commented on how nice it was to see Christians of all denominations coming together like this—it’s only really happened in Milan with the March for Jesus.

This morning I woke up to snow falling, but it hasn’t stuck.  For me, snowfall is always a miracle from Heaven.  Who know what God has in store for us today?  But I know this:  He’s good, and whatever He has for us will be good, too.  I’ll say it again: God is good!

A Parade!

This morning I awoke at the house of my friends Roxie and Daniel, who live in Biella.  Roxie is called la orsa che abbraccia—the hugging bear.  She has earned this name because she gives big, warm bear hugs that make you feel very welcome and loved.  Outside the window, it seemed unusually bright for six AM.  It had snowed overnight, and as I write this, it is continuing to snow.  Roxie fixed me a fantastic (and fantastically big) breakfast and a sack lunch to take with me on the train.  Then she and Daniel drove me to the train station.

What a difference being in the train station!  At their house we all praised God for the beautiful snow, which is a gift from Heaven to water the earth in winter.  But in the train station I have heard nothing but whining about the snow, the cold, and illnesses.  Of course, illnesses don’t come from cold weather, but from viruses.  Besides, as believers, we should never say, “I’ve got a cold (or the flu or whatever type of illness).”  Pastor Fabio’s sermon yesterday was about how when Jesus said, “It is finished,” and bowed His head, all the curses from original sin were paid for—including sickness.  If we can manage to wrap our heads around the idea that it has already been paid—all of it!—then we can truly begin to live the victorious life of true freedom in Christ.  These are the days of miracles and wonders, if we can only believe it.

On the train to Santhiá, where I am at this moment, it has continued to snow.  Here I have about an hour between trains.  No sooner did I sit down to wait, then I heard music.  It was a band marching down the street toward the city offices across the street from the train station.  On what most people here are lamenting as a dismal and cold winter day, there is a band celebrating something.  I grabbed my camera and took some pictures—the only person to do so.  Again, it seems like the contrast between believers and unbelievers is as plain as black and white, darkness and light.

The Bible tells us that the world will fall into ever darker darkness, but the beautiful thing about that is the contrast between darkness and light.  Therefore, go and be the light of the world that you were created to be.  The people lost in darkness will be attracted to the light of the Son like moths to a flame.  And if there’s no parade, start one!  Our celebration has only just begun! 

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!