Shcherbans

Tag: Central Asia

  • Kingdom-First

    Kingdom-First

    “The business was going very well”, she said. “Staff from the company next door and across the street and the kids from the center, they all crowded in and we took their orders and the café was real busy all those months”.

    She continued talking as she put a dish of steaming hot lagman in front of us. The aroma of thick noodles covered with sauce from the stir-fried beef and veggies was more than inviting. “Welcome home”, I whispered to my husband as we broke the lepeshka bread into pieces. Their 8-year-old son had a twinkle in his eye as he excitedly informed us, “There’s even chocolate cake for dessert!”.

    I smiled as we listened on. It felt so comfortable, so good to be back with our Kyrgyz friends in the southern region of the republic. She continued talking about the things they experienced when they opened their café. “Of course, we were hardly ever home. We would leave early in the morning, and two of the kids would go with us and our third one joined us after school. We ate all our meals there, and would come home late and tired. But it was going really well. We even stopped counting our change.”

    And she went on explaining more, but she’d already lost me. I stopped in my thoughts, pondering over her last statement. Change? Stopped counting their change?? Did they really collect it all and count it, every last penny?

    When was the last time I even noticed ours?

    And I looked around me as if seeing everything for the first time. I noticed the handmade drapes from wallpaper that she’d carefully hung in the window to hide the sun. I watched the kids as they toppled over each other, tickling and giggling and playing; and I listened as they squealed in excitement over the new pens we brought them, fighting over who would open them first. I looked at the dresses that the mom and little girl wore, and listened as the husband told us that she sews all of her clothes on a 60-year old sewing machine that she had to keep turning with her hands because they didn’t have an automatic one. I listened to the husband’s prayer as he thanked the Lord for His grace and for blessing their home with our arrival. I noted the bible verses that hung on the wall and the deep satisfaction in the eyes of them all.

    I took it in and I was stunned. Not a word of complaint, not a hint of disappointment of not having or even wanting more…

    “So why did you give up the business, why did you stop running the café?”, I asked.

    “Summer outreach programs and children’s camps are starting, and there’s construction to do in church and lots of other things coming up. When we ran the café, we couldn’t do ministry whole-heartedly like we used to”, she answered. “Besides, we have peace and true joy in our hearts now, even though we don’t know what’s ahead. I’ll probably bake from home and we will sell the goods in stores, at our own pace and schedule. But we know He will be faithful, as He always has been.”

    And we looked at them again, this family of five. This family that put Him first; put the needs of the Kingdom above their own desires. This family that treasured inner peace above outward prosperity, treasured eternal deposits above earthly possessions and treasured faith above finances.

    This family that held a Kingdom perspective and lived out Kingdom principles as they passed their days by on Earth – and their life painted out Jesus’ words,

    “But seek first the Kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these thing will be added to you…” Matt. 6:33

    A living application of His teaching, they live by the principle Kingdom-first;

                  So that Kingdom-first would become Kingdom-forever.

    We went home that night, to the apartment we are staying at for two months, and before bed I got on my knees and prayed for forgiveness. I needed to confess that, sometimes, I speak things that I don’t live out. I worry and fret and think about things that, ultimately, don’t matter. I cloud my mind with earthly desires and leave little room for thoughts of the Kingdom. I forget about the One who left everything to bring the Kingdom for a short time here.

                  Left everything – so that, one day, we could live with Him in His kingdom forever.

  • What They See

    What They See

    It’s not that easy to get used to.

    Every time you walk up the road and every time you pass by a group. As you stroll out of your house and head to the store, as you pass the women with bright head scarves who sell vegetables at the market and the men with white beards who spit sunflower seeds on the ground. As you pay for the internet and your phone service and your bills, when you throw out your garbage and run through your daily errands.

    As you live near them and with them and among them- they’re watching.

    And it seems that all across the country of Tajikistan; they’re watching closely. They aren’t ashamed of staring intently. In fact, they don’t even notice it. You feel uncomfortable and awkward; sometimes you even feel afraid. But it’s accepted here, it’s just something they all do; openly stare and watch as you walk from place to place, turn their heads and look you up and down. Look into your eyes and study you. Notice your differences and pick up on your accent.

    And it doesn’t really matter that it feels strange and awkward and uncomfortable.

    What really matters is what they see.

    Because wherever we go and whatever we do, people are watching. And candles aren’t put under baskets nor cities hidden that are set on hills. Our words and our deeds and our works- they either shine and bring much-needed light…or hide their warmth and cover their light.

    And the tone I use when I speak, the words that fly out of my mouth when I get upset, the expression on my face when my patience runs thin… those things speak. My life speaks. And I waste my time teaching and preaching if my life doesn’t mirror those words. When others see me and watch me and study me; they should see Him. They should hear Christ in my words and see Jesus in my actions.

    Because candles give light. They light up corners and rooms and cities. They stand in different quarters of the world and do their job. In some places, the darkness is so strong and threatening and the candles so few and bleak that they’re barely visible; but they stand there nonetheless, shining their light. In other places, they light each other and start fires that spread so rapidly that entire communities shine. Yet in other places, they’re just put under baskets, hidden in the darkness and useless to their surroundings.

    And those women with bright head scarves at the market and the men with white beards in the street, perhaps they’re cold and they’re stiff and they’re icy inside; waiting for the light of a candle to warm them.

    Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a basket, but on a candlestick; and it gives light unto all that are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.

    –Matthew 5:14-16

  • What I’ve Learned

    What I’ve Learned

    It’s hard, putting into words things that have passed through your heart. Things that have left you thinking and pondering and wondering, have left you joyful and smiling, have left you asking all kinds of questions, and sometimes, things that have left you just plain speechless.

    Things that have connected with your emotions on a number of different levels.

    But it’s worth a try:

    1. Poor people often have rich culture.

    Family and relationships and food and traditions passed on from generation to generation.

    1. Modest clothing is quite pleasant to the eyes; yet long skirts don’t equal holy hearts.

    And being religious doesn’t mean that you have faith.

    1. Decisions are made much quicker when choices are limited.

    Two flavors of cheese, bread and drinks save you a lot of time (and money!)

    1. You’ve got to listen to understand before listening to reply.

    You’ll do so much more for someone if you really listen. Understanding them is caring for them.

    1. Values lost in the West are abundant in the East.

    Real values. Real meaning. Real relationships.

    1. Sometimes, helping others is so much easier than we make it out to be.

    It’s just about finding out what they really need.

    1. Joy is a fruit of the Spirit, not a fruit of your salary.

    Contentment stems from your attitude, not your belongings or surroundings.

    1. Rest.

    You can only give away as much as you receive from one another and God.

    1. Big need brings big gratitude.

    And gratitude brings joy.

    1. If you want to be heard, speak simply.

    There are enough resources out there with long, fancy words.

    1. True friendship has no nationality.

    There is no race or color when the heart is understood.

    Honestly, there’s so much more. So many people and conversations and experiences that have left an imprint somewhere inside. And I want them to stay with me, all these things to continue shaping me and teaching me to look further than what is visible.

    And to be thankful for what I see.

  • there is Someone

    there is Someone

    “Who cares about people anyway?”, she asked as we sipped tea from chipped teacups. “The state doesn’t, the country doesn’t, the officials don’t…”

    I restrained from commenting as I continued sitting there, waiting for what would be said next.

    She was a mother of seven and grandmother of one. The children ranged in age from one to 20, with plenty of numbers in between. Although she was barely past 40, she looked well beyond 50. The wrinkled skin on her face and her slow footsteps spoke of back pain and endless days tilling the ground under the hot steppe sun of central Kazakhstan.

    She continued slowly, brows furrowed as she went back in time to tough memories and difficult days. And once she started sharing her story, the words flowed from her lips as though they’d been struggling to come out for a long, long time.

    And we sat and we listened. Listened long and hard as it all came together, as her life story played out.

    It was a life lived in deep poverty and painful mistakes, of suffering and pain and injustice, of ignorance and betrayal and loss, of alcohol and failure and a seemingly endless list of dark words and dark worlds.

    Until the light broke through. And the darkness scattered, and the Light became life, and life became new for this woman who’d been battered and beaten and almost overtaken.

    And she sat there, and we talked and we cried and we prayed together. Together in that kitchen where mold covers the walls every season and food morsels cover the floor, where the babies cry and shout and the other kids argue, where the window goes out to show the children’s worn socks drying on the fence post. And money is tight and they’re always low on clothes and backpacks, on toys and meat and sugar. And radiation levels in that village, they’re high, and babies are born with defects and illnesses, and countless families suffer pain and loss and sickness as they struggle to make a living.

    But the people have somewhere to come. They come to that house. And because Jesus lives among that family of ten, there is refuge and there is hope and there is life. They are now the pastor and wife in that village church. And at home, half of that household is now baptized believers. They gather in the evenings to read together and pray, to worship and sing.

    The picture of grace that breaks the cycle of sin shines bright. Bright as the hot steppe sun that burns their hands and shoulders as they till the ground.

    After hearing her story, I had to agree. In some places, the state and the country and the officials don’t care. They don’t see and they don’t hear and they don’t bother.

    But together, we came to a conclusion. There is still Someone who cares about people.

    And even if no one else does, He will and He did and He does.

    “What is man that you are mindful of him,
        and the son of man that you care for him?”

    Psalm 8:4

    And some days, even the strongest of us need to be reminded of that.

  • They kept singing…

    They kept singing…

    It’s not too often that we think about suffering.

    It was a sunny day, and the mountainous village church was half-full that Sunday morning. We had come with the youth from another city to visit the small church and encourage our brothers and sisters. Few of the locals understood Russian, so the service was translated into Kyrgyz. My husband stood behind the pulpit, preaching a message on joy in Christ when he saw them jumping the fence, opening the gate, and walking into the yard. A police officer, angry neighbors and people with video cameras rushed into the church, causing a ruckus that turned heads and started whispers. Our group looked at each other and at the unwelcome visitors, frightened that they would start asking us for our documents and causing problems. Yet the locals in the church kept singing, kept praising and worshipping and trusting that God wouldn’t let the enemy bring them down.

    “Every Sunday, they keep us awake. They come and cause problems. They try to shut down the church and scare us away from the faith. But really, they’re reminding us of what’s the most important thing to the Lord, and we don’t fall asleep,” the church deacon told us in quiet conversation. We later found out that a few months ago, their pastor was taken at night, was threatened and beaten all night, and warned to stop gathering with the “traitors” who’d left the true faith, the other Kyrgyz believers.

    And we traveled to more villages in the southern area, and met with other Christians who’d been threatened and beaten and harmed, and whose church buildings had been burned and damaged. We spoke to pastors who were dragged out before their families and almost drowned before their eyes. We looked at their faces and listened to their hearts. We ate plov and we talked and laughed. We sat on the floor and sang songs with them long into the night, together praising the One who suffered so much more.

    And and all the while we learned something. They suffered pain and often lived in fear. They were under attack, but their faith was unwavering. They shined brighter, they grew stronger, and they prayed harder. We’d thought to encourage them. But the faith and commitment that we saw in our brothers and sisters stirred our souls and spoke more than encouragement to us.

    There IS a persecuted church. They are our brothers and sisters and friends. They live in harsh conditions among hostile neighbors, and they fight the battle everyday. They fight it on their knees. They fight it with the Word. They fight it with their faith.

    And they need our prayers.

    We were fine that day. The officials didn’t ask us anything, didn’t request to see our documents or threaten us in any way. We were fed a delicious lunch by the local members, and after some fellowship and songs, we left that church and city.

    We left, and there wasn’t anything we could do to stop the officials that would come again next Sunday.

    And come again the next Sunday, and the next…

    “Remember those who are in prison, as though in prison with them, and those who are mistreated, since you also are in the body.” Heb 13:3

  • Beautiful

    Beautiful

    “Your hands are so pretty. They’re so soft, and small, and white”, she said as she touched my hands, then my ring, then my fingers.  “Mine are rough, and big. Dark”.

    I looked at her hands, then mine, then hers again. Her beautiful olive skin held tones of sun and culture, a color that ran deep in the blood of her fathers.

    And I thought of what I knew about her, this woman who’d become my friend. Who’d become my sister.

    Because I knew that her hands, they served others ever since they became His.

    Those hands, they symbolized the scorching heat of gathering ripened harvest in the fields during the summer months, waking up before the sun to sweep the yard and tidy the house, and cook delicious, homemade meals three times a day for brothers and sisters and moms and dads, for family and those who became family, over and over and over again.

    They’re bringing up three precious children, feeding and washing and loving them to the moon and back. They did piles of dirty laundry for years, without washing machines or Tide. They cared for her husband, holding him up when times got tough, and encouraging and respecting him as he fervently served the Lord Jesus amidst threats and taunts and hate from his own family; family that called him a traitor as they continued Friday visits to the mosque yet drowned themselves in alcohol on Saturdays.

    Those hands, they cleaned up broken women who were abused by the men in their lives; husbands and brothers and fathers. Women who thought they had no way out until Jesus touched them through those hands. 

    They welcomed strangers and washed their clothes and gave them rest. They fed poor, hungry mouths and scrubbed the dirt off shoes and souls.

    They did so much, and will do even more, because they’re open and they’re willing and they’re strong.

    And I looked at them, and they were beautiful. Olive-toned and big and worn.

    Beautifully dark and tough.

    Beautifully HIS.

     

    Because in essence, that’s all that matters.

  • Like No Other

    Like No Other

    “Please, I beg you, just let her see the doctor for five minutes. Just look at her! She needs to be seen”, the mother pointed to her child and pleaded with me as I cleared the table that had registered more than 150 handicaps, sick children and newcomers from the village. It was already past five, the time we said we would close. I looked at the woman, then at the child, and then once more at the woman who’d brought three other mothers with her. I was told to be strict, to tell everyone that 5 o’clock was the final call; but I just couldn’t.

    She pleaded with me and begged me and looked at me with hopeful eyes, and I went to our doctors and I spoke to them, and they took all the women and their children. On the way out, her eyes danced as she thanked me, and all of them left that clinic with a smile; a mile wide.

    The doctors came from overseas to Kyrgyzstan to treat patients with disabilities and those who have very little access to medicine. People from remote places came to the cities and villages, and they flooded the buildings we occupied, arguing about who came first and who would be seen first. On the way out, as they got their medicine, some of them asked how much they owe us, and when we told them it was free, their smiles grew larger.

    And as I sat and translated and listened, my heart grew heavier and heavier with each story. The wrong dose of medicine, the harmful antibiotics, the health and the lives and the futures of the people that had been stripped away from them in a matter of minutes. The heartbreaking results of corruption and unrighteousness sat before us, and we listened and we cried and we talked to them, offering them our attention and our care. And there wasn’t much that we could do, but we saw their smiles and their thankful hearts as they left those clinics with free medicine and professional advice, and we prayed that they’d never forget what they felt with us.

    We prayed that they’d seen Christ in us.

    And I thought back to the mother who pleaded with me. She begged and she asked and she looked on me with hope, and I stopped what I was doing because I saw something in her. I saw myself in her.

    I saw the way that I kept coming to the Doctor. He’d treat me and I’d smile and run back to what I was doing, until I got another scab. Until it hurt and I couldn’t hold it any longer, and I’d run back and beg Him again, plead with Him to heal me and restore me. And He would, again and again and again. He’d gently take me and hold me, gather me in His arms and cry with me, and then give peace to my soul as I let His healing touch work in my heart.

    The day after that, we closed at five. There were people waiting, and patients who’d come too late, but we still closed. We had to drive a long way back, and we just couldn’t take them all. And I looked at their eyes and I saw their disappointment, and my heart was heavy, because I knew that we’d never have time to treat them all.

    But God, He’s different than us. He is patient and kind and doesn’t tire the way we do. He doesn’t rush to do the next thing when people line up to see Him. We come to Him, and He accepts us. We ask, and He treats us.

    “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” Matthew 11:28

    “…It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.” Mark 2:17

    He is a doctor, the Doctor.

    A Doctor like no other.

  • Colors

    Colors

    The small flowers and swirls on the woman’s head scarf are unusually bright. She sits in front of me at church, and the colors stand out against the low white ceiling. I’ve seen those colors many times this month. Hanging on clotheslines and on teapots at the bazaar and on posters and vases and doors- vibrant colors that seem to contrast with reality.

    On Sundays, we gather in a fairly large room of a small house, where a wall was taken down to put in some benches and chairs and form a type of worship hall. If you come as a one-time visitor, it just looks like another group of people that have come together to worship Christ. But if you come as a one-time visitor, you won’t know or hear or learn things, things that will stir your soul.

    You won’t know that the man that is preaching is an ex-criminal who devoted his life to picking up people that have no hope or future, people that the government chooses to ignore as they live outside and find relief in drugs and alcohol. You won’t know that most of the women live without their husbands; husbands who’ve exchanged their families for jobs and ladies in higher-paying countries. You won’t know that the man that sings his heart out as he strums the guitar spent most of his life behinds bars until the Lord found him there, and the praise coming from his lips is the only way he knows how to thank Him. And the other preacher, in quiet conversation tells you that because of his love for Christ, he wouldn’t give a second thought to dying for him, and he’s been in situations close to it already. You won’t hear about the teens that have to run from angry parents at home, seeking rest and understanding in fellowship with their new family. And the woman who’s been a second wife twice, and can’t afford to rent an apartment for herself and her six kids because of wrong people and wrong choices. And the parent-less children and the lonely old lady and all the others; and we worship and sing and pray together to the One that still creates beauty from ashes.

    And some of them, they sleep on hard mattresses and pillows and altogether in one room, around a small heater that barely warms them. But those cold rooms, they hold warm, serving hearts of people with a dark past and a bright future.

    And it starts to make sense when I think of the colors around me, the colors that stand in contrast to the dirt and the mud that reflects the deep poverty and aching hearts of the Tajik people.

    Because here, under one roof, I see colors in their souls. A tapestry of dark hearts turned to white. Vibrant reds and greens and yellows, life painted over black. A masterpiece only one Painter can accomplish.

    Vessels that seemed to be of no use molded into beautiful souls that are fulfilling their purpose.

    The wisest of men once noted this truth. “He has made everything beautiful in its time.” Ecclesiastes 3:11

    Everything. Beautiful.

    He still creates beauty from ashes.