Shcherbans

Tag: Lessons Learned

  • 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

  • Comfort Kills

    Comfort Kills

    I know those words sound like they shouldn’t be put together. One of them is positive, connoting good feelings and emotions; the other harsh, abrupt and merciless.

    But to be honest, there’s no better way to describe it. And I don’t think I’ve ever understood it as well as I do now.

    Comfort kills. It does, if you let it.

    Owning a car isn’t a given in the majority of the world, it’s a comfort. Yet it kills our need to walk somewhere instead of getting in the car and driving there, even if our destination is close. Not to mention the fumes that fill the air and kill clean oxygen.

    TV’s and computers kill time, calculators kill mental math skills, air conditioners kill balanced humidity levels, and dishwashers, washing machines and pressure cookers kill knowledge of doing it any other way.

    Electronic books kill the need for libraries and virtual communication kills the need for physical relationships.

    And the list goes on… but those things don’t worry me.  They’re inevitable in our day and age, and quite a blessing to those who have them.

    What worries me is what I’ve noticed inside of me. The cravings, desires and feelings I feel. The wants and the needs that change once my surroundings change.

    Once I’m away from the hurt and the pain on the faces of passerby, the dust and the dirt and the flies sitting on meat. Away from the sounds of children playing on broken swings, dogs barking and angry men fighting. Away from feeling the joy that comes from biting into my favorite cookies after a year of not having them. Away from the heat that drains me of energy yet forces me to keep moving forward. Away from honking cars that startle me. Away from having to watch my use of Christian vocabulary in public and from having to worry about the pickpocket standing next to me on the ever-crowded bus as I travel home.

    Away from the utter dependency and absolute reliance on my Father.

    When the comfort creeps in, and I see smiling faces and overstocked shelves, bursting closets and fancy shoes. Packaged meat and scrubbed-clean vegetables, busy restaurants and full stomachs. Big, fancy churches lining beautiful streets and parking lots boasting expensive vehicles.

    And I don’t even realize how it’s all slowly killing me. Killing my urgent need to pray. Killing my sense of satisfaction in Him and substituting it for temporary things. Killing my desires to wake up early and come bowing in worship, come to the One who gives peace when it’s absent and rest when it’s rare. The One who fills the void and wipes the tears that fall with others who suffer pain.

    And I know that something’s wrong. I’m the one letting the comfort kill.

    It doesn’t matter where you live, in luxury or in poverty.

    Because the visible comfort only masks the raw pain that unites us humans. It creates a sense of security, of happiness and bliss. It paints a picture of contentment and satisfaction that disguises reality. But on the inside, we will always be empty until we come to be filled.

    What really matters is how much you allow the earthly comfort to influence your eternal soul.

    Because ultimately, it’s not about comfort.

    It’s about the Comforter.

    And every comfort on this Earth is meaningless in comparison to what He gives.

    If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. 

    Colossians 3:1-2

  • 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.

  • 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.