Tag: Testimony

  • 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.

  • Cold walls

    Cold walls

    “I can’t believe I didn’t know these things,” he said as he quickly brushed away the tears that came down, a little shy of the fact that he was crying. “I’ve heard of God my whole life, I prayed five times a day, but I didn’t know to Who…”

    We sat, legs crisscrossed in that circle, tables low and bibles open. The walls still smelled like cheap paint, even after months of opening the windows and airing out the room. It was February, and while neighboring countries battled freezing temperatures, the people of Tajikistan thanked God for a sparing winter. The small republic still didn’t have central heating. Portable electric heaters warmed up bedrooms while doors to bigger and colder rooms were shut to preserve heat in needed areas.

    But the little heater in the center of the room wasn’t the only source of warmth. I looked around at their faces. They had all recently come to the saving knowledge. They wore their hearts on their sleeves as they huddled in that circle, radiating something that was much bigger than any heater could generate. Eyes widened and questions flowed as we dug deeper into the Word, marveling at the treasures it held.

    The cheap paint and cold walls didn’t stop the atmosphere of worship that filled the room. The air was thick with hearts kneeled before Him, open to learning and understanding and desiring more truth. We walked through the hallway of faith, heroes of then that shined brighter now. We spoke of Moses and got to know Abraham better, and introduced them to the others whose names made it to Hebrews 11. “I’m thankful for meeting brother Enoch today. I learned so much from the short notes of his life”, he said, and I sat with no words in my mouth because I’d never even related to Enoch as a brother.

    We talked about His character. It was all new to them, grace and mercy and love and the countless other traits our Father possesses. Every verse we opened and read generated comments and discussion and awe. Wonder.

    He sat there, trying to fight the tears that threatened to stream down his cheeks. He held them back for a bit, but finally gave up. And we looked at Christ and read about Him and prayed to Him, and he let the tears flow freely, tears of worship and admiration. Tears that spoke louder than words as he let his heart be molded and softened and touched by the Word.

    But he wasn’t the only one touched. He didn’t even know how much his tears affected me.

    I sat there, like the older brother that was always in the Father’s house. The Father shared everything with me. I spent all of my days with Him.

    But I wasn’t even half as thankful for all I had as this young man was, who wasn’t ashamed of his tears as he took in what the Father offered.

    I don’t remember the last time I cried in appreciation and wonder of the One who left everything, came down and served people like me. The One who died in my place. And the One who rose again, and today offers me a life filled with true meaning.

    When He was here, Jesus spoke a lot to church people. To the people that spent all of their days in the temple and knew all the rules and all the right ways to do things. And the parable of the prodigal son, or, better yet, the parable of the love of the Father, was directed to them. To me.

    “Look, these many years I have served you, and I never disobeyed your command, yet you never gave me a young goat, that I may celebrate with my friends…

    Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours…”

    Luke 15:29-31

    The promise of the Father is as true then as it is now. And sometimes, He uses His children from the other side of the world that live in tough, dark places to remind me of that.

    That’s the character of my Father. That is Love.

     

     

    Published: 02/28/2018

     

  • WHITE AS SNOW

    WHITE AS SNOW

    She was an ordinary woman, a Russian-speaking Korean lady with a wide smile and a pleasant face. She had on glasses that were a bit darker than the usual clear lenses, and a robe that was worn from many years of housework. I said hello and kissed her in greeting.

    She invited me to the table and put hot blinchiki, fresh off the skillet, in front of me. As she poured me a cup of tea, I started to notice that there was something different about this woman. I watched her move from place to place, confident in her surroundings. A few awkward bumps into things gave it away, and it finally dawned on me.

    This woman was completely blind.

    It was the time of white blanketing the earth as far as the eye could see. The time of Jack Frost decorating every window, and sleds being tugged and pulled by mothers and fathers, brisk in their attempts to transport children from place to place. Smoke from chimneys, houses and businesses filled the freezing air as white puffs of breath came out from every passerby. The streets were dotted with animal furs, draped across women’s shoulders, a mixture of bitter cold and warmth that brought about an aura of wonder. Winter wonder.

    But it was more than the dancing snowflakes and hot tea. The wonder was deeper…

    A wonder that caught my breath, their story.

    It was my second trip to their house, this family that passed through thick and thin. I knew so little of them. Yet their acceptance and love shined bright, and I was no stranger in their house. They offered me a place to stay and their help around the city. Yet what I took most of was their love. Love for Him, the One who gave it.

    They say you never know what to expect in life. You get married, you live, you love. But beyond those words stands reality: the unexpected. He took her as his wife when she was already blind. Along with that, he took criticism and unacceptance from others, responsibility and another life from her. He took the womanly duties, pampering and feeding the children, shopping and cleaning house. Braiding little heads and buying toy cars, teaching to read and write. He took the manly duties, providing bread for the family, building house, fixing cars. And also, he took the lead. He built the family foundation on Christ.

    But not right away.

    Oh, she suffered. Oh, how they suffered! A few years into marriage, he went down. Deeper and deeper into another world, one that consisted of endless needles and highs. He took everything with him. His house, his car, his job. No time passed before it was all gone. He lost everything. His children would look him in the eyes and ask to play, while his heart felt nothing but the need to continue, just another dose.

    And through it all, she stood by his side. She didn’t complain about her handicap. Not once did she let the dark truth out to their family. No one knew of the terrible drugs that sucked away everything: money, job, life. She was a Christian by then, and her faith, tested like never before, shined on. Oh, there were days of hopeless cries and endless pain. There was frustration as the thread of patience grew thin. She stood by helplessly as he wasted away, weak and thin and scared. She listened to the cries of her hungry children, loud and demanding. And she could do nothing. She prayed on.

    Seven years of hospital visits, psychiatric units, and dark days later, the moment arrived. HE is faithful, no matter our unfaithfulness. HIS promise beamed in the tear-stained face of a man beaten by life and near-death, a man who went through the valley of darkness and came out into the light. A man who had nothing— gained everything as he bent his knees and laid his heart into the hands of his Creator. Hands that had been waiting for a long, long time…

    Life turned around. Happiness appeared, not in material wealth. Hearts that were empty now overflowed with a new love, a purpose to life. Truths came out and the past opened, serving its purpose for the good of those who needed it. Scrambling to rebuild life, he started by investing into a sewing machine. It was something he could do, something he did well. Loans, money borrowed and building rents were searched out everywhere. Somehow, God provided. He started out quite small, a few neighbors with a needle and thread. A few square meters in the market, a few good customers, and a few God-sent people who marketed their product  to different countries proved God’s promise. “I will never leave you…”

    Now, he sits there, the director of a leading dress pant brand in Asia that exports to other countries around the globe. He responds wisely to my questions, careful not to take any glory for himself. They know him as the man who takes everyone, the low ones shunned by society. His factory workers consist of locals, handicaps, and people with a past. Every morning begins with devotions and prayer, and many of the unbelievers have become a part of the church over this time. He is a servant leader there in his factory, strong in his will to help and obedient to the Lord’s calling.

    She stands beside him, a rose in a bushel of thorns. Her weakness is her strength as she lives and breathes and loves and sacrifices. She’s learned everything through the years. Her cooking is hard to beat, her house spotless. Her health heavy, she lives for others. She brings an aura of happiness wherever she goes. She laughs and lives fully, cheerful and happy and blessed. She’s gained much over the years; thus, gives so much more.

    The family was rebuilt, rebuilt on Christ. Yes, he is ill now. “Sowing what I reaped”, he said. But it doesn’t stop him from getting up each morning with purpose, ready to fight the good battle of faith. They wait in excitement for the first grandson, praying that God gives enough health to see the bundle of joy.

    We left their house a week later, our hearts filled in a way we didn’t know before. A wonder that was hard to describe, lessons learned in a week that took years to compile.

    Once, a man close to Jesus, an apostle, had a vision. The Lord opened to him what He hadn’t to anyone before. Oh, the promises He showed and the words He said!

    “Behold, I make all things new.” Revelation 21:5

    Today, as before, the promise stands true. He is the Creator. He creates. And white as the snow that piled high, the snow that blinded me as I looked around when it first fell, fresh and new.

    So we must allow Him to create the new.

     

    Published: 02/10/2014