GraceFox

Today would have been my dad’s 84^th birthday. I sent him a birthday card early just in case he didn’t reach this day, but Mom told me that he wasn’t opening his eyes anymore by the time it reached him. “Sadness,” my friend Diane would say. He’s not here this year, but he’s enjoying a party that far outshines anything we could have dreamt up.

Today we attended a Polish church service with another IM couple. This city has 80,000 people and only 100 believers between two Protestant congregations. On the way to church, we drove past a massive Catholic cemetery approximately the size of a city block. Grave upon grave upon grave. The majority were covered with marble and decorated with flowers and candles. Across the street was an open market with sellers and their wares – grave candles and floral arrangements. Again, as Diane would say, “Sadness.” One thing I noticed was that no one seems to smile here. There’s a sense of heaviness in this place, as in many other places.

The evening sessions were well received by the women at the sponsoring church. One little lady reminded me of my grandmother. We tried to communicate but it was difficult without my knowing any Polish words and her knowing only a handful of English. What a delightful woman she was, though. More goodbyes, more kisses, and more prayers for God to build His kingdom in this place.

The Radom conference began at 10 a.m. Four college-age women formed the worship team, singing the Polish version of familiar songs such as “Come, Now is the Time to Worship.” It’s amazing, really, the international family of God. He has adopted children of every culture and language. We might not be able to understand our brothers’ and sisters’ words while on earth but there are no communication barriers when we praise our Father together.

The day consisted of two sessions. After the first ended, one woman approached me and said, “I’m a scientist in the process of writing a book. I know exactly what you mean when you speak of the fear of inadequacy.” She explained that the task of writing this book stands before her like a mountain. She said that after hearing me telling about the fears I faced before writing Moving From Fear to Freedom, she knew she could proceed and trust the Lord to equip her for the job just as He had equipped me. Praise the Lord!

Others spoke to me after the last session, grateful for the perspective they’d received and excited about putting into practice the truths they’d learned. Goodbyes were said. Kisses were exchanged. And once again my heart rejoiced in the privilege of meeting these Polish sisters and being used as a channel of God’s blessings. This city has approximately 300,000 people and only 200 believers. I pray that the Lord will use this afternoon to help build His kingdom in this place.

The conference over, Diane and I hopped on a bus and headed for the next stop.

Another travel day. Jagoda, our Polish bubble, picked us up and delivered us to the train station. “Come back soon,” she said. “We can put you to work for a whole month speaking for our groups in Poland.” The train rolled in, and true to European fashion, stayed for only one minute. We barely had time to say our goodbyes before the whistle blew and we were off.

The instant we climbed on board, we were greeted by Anya, another IM friend. She’d translated for me when I was in Poland last September, and she was to be my translator for the women’s meeting in Radom, our next destination. What a joy to see her again. She’s in her mid 20s, attending university in Warsaw to develop her talent as an artist. Her passion for the Lord runs deep; she has wisdom beyond her years.

Several other IM coworkers met us in Radom and took us to their apartment. The entire day was a feast of getting to know each other better. In the evening we shared a precious time of praying together for the country of Poland. When we said “Amen,” Anya broke into song. “Seek ye first the kingdom of God and His righteousness…” We weren’t exactly a choir ready to go on tour, nevertheless we felt the presence of God fill that tiny apartment and our hearts were blessed. What a privilege to be partners with the Lord in building His kingdom in this country.

The evening’s meeting was held in an upscale restaurant, hosted by the International Christian Fellowship church in Warsaw. Evening meetings are not the norm here, so Barbara (the pastor’s wife) wasn’t sure how well it would be attended. She was delighted when 37 women showed up. These gals were mostly Westerners – the wives of American businessmen and embassy employees.

At Barbara’s request, I spoke on the theme “If Teacups Could Talk.” Using an acrostic from the letters for the word friend, I talked about the different aspects of women’s friendships and then shared how Jesus is my best friend. If the attendees had as much fun as I did, then the evening was a success.

This speaking engagement provided me with an “aha” moment. My past experience in Nepal gives me credibility not only with missionary women but also with these Westerners living overseas. I understand homesickness, loneliness, language barriers, and culture shock. I understand what’s involved in moving overseas. I pray that my words encouraged them tonight. And I pray for more opportunities to connect with them and others in the same position.

We met with a group of about 10 young mothers this morning, led by one of our wonderful IM gals. She has such a passion for these women, her peers. She meets with them on a regular basis to encourage them in their role as mothers and wives. I was delighted when she emailed shortly before I left Canada, asking if I could speak to them when I arrived in Warsaw.

We met in a family-friendly restaurant. A screen on one wall featured cartoons for the children to watch. Kid-sized tables and a bench swing made it a welcoming place for the little ones. This venue made it a very different atmosphere in which to speak. It was busy, busy, busy, and loud. At times I wondered if these moms could even hear me, let alone process what I was saying about the value of their role and how to stay refreshed.

My concern was answered as we ate lunch with them, when several approached Diane and me to ask questions about marriage and parenting. They found encouragement in knowing that I was a stay-at-home mom and was 40 years old when I started my writing career.

We left these lovely ladies after 2 p.m. and connected with Jagoda, the president of Women’s Forum (CCC) for Poland. Diane and I have nicknamed her “our Polish bubble.” She reminds us of the Energizer Bunny –going, going, going. She bought tram tickets for us and took us to tour Old City Warsaw. Trouble was, rain and wind swept in early that morning and blew away all traces of spring. “This is for crazy women!” said Jagoda as we zipped up our coats and braved the elements.

This was no leisurely stroll through the park. Facing time limitations and freezing weather, we hustled through history. “This is our White House,” said Jagoda. The camera pointed and clicked, and we raced on. “This is part of the wall that surrounded the city,” she said, motioning to her left. Point, click. “This candle marks the opening of an underground tunnel where children relayed messages between members of the Resistance,” she said. Point, click. “This symbol was placed on exterior walls to declare that the Polish people were alive and would continue fighting for their freedom against the enemy forces.” Point, click. And so our tour continued. By the time we reached the tram to return to Jagoda’s car, our hair hung limp and we looked like something the family dog might have dragged home. But hey! We made a memory!

Jagoda’s enthusiasm couldn’t be dampened by the rain. “Now I’ll take you to the train station,” she said. “Pray for a parking place nearby.” And off we drove. Sure enough, when we arrived at the station we found a space between two cars. “I don’t know if I can stay here, so I must hurry,” she said. Typical of the European way, she bumped up the curb and parked the car with its right wheels on the sidewalk. “Let’s go!” she said. Half-running, half-walking, we lugged our suitcases down the stairs, arriving at our platform as our train pulled into the station. “Goodbye,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” Diane and I were on our own, riding the train to the outskirts of Warsaw to meet our next contact person.

Today was a long day but extremely fulfilling. The first session was with Campus Crusade for Christ missionary women. Many are struggling with not knowing their niche. They became involved with CCC immediately after university and enjoyed a specific role. But as the years passed, they married and started raising a family. Now their husbands are busy and fulfilled in ministry, but they’re left feeling as though life is passing them by. They’re also facing major financial challenges, especially as the tension continues between the euro and the American dollar.

I can totally understand how they feel on both issues. As the Canadian dollar has strengthened, our family’s missionary financial base has dropped by several hundred dollars per month. I’ve been learning to trust and not be afraid as our expenses increase. I’ve learned to practice praise in the “midnight hour” as Paul and Silas did. God dwells in the praises of His people, and when we praise Him in difficult circumstances, He delights to show His power. And so I thank the Lord that I can speak to them from my heart and not just give them pat answers. The women laughed and loved it when I told them that the shirt I was wearing was from a second-hand store. One gal stood up and indicated with arm gestures that her suit was also from a thrift store. We laughed again, and then someone said to me, “You’re one of us!” To me, that’s a high compliment.

I can also relate to their struggle re: not knowing their niche in ministry. While in Christian camping ministry for 11 years, my husband was the program director but I had no defined role. That was a frustrating place to be, but through it I learned that my family was my first ministry, and I discovered small ways in which I could use my gifts even from my home. My heart totally empathizes with these gals who are well-trained and gifted but wondering if they’ll ever have opportunity to use their education again.

Later that evening we met in the same room. This was an outreach meeting, and the organizers expected 50-60 women. More than 70 showed up! The room was packed full. And what an evening it was. My interpreter was fantastic; I felt she conveyed my heart, not just my words, to the audience. The Gospel was clearly presented but asking for an outward indication of an inward decision is not culturally appropriate. We have no way of knowing whether anyone committed her life to following Christ, but He knows. I have to trust that if someone prayed to receive salvation through Him, He will care for her and provide her with the support she needs to grow in her new-found faith.

As I present these sessions on overcoming fear to these Polish women, I’m realizing that this message is soooo needed. Always, several gals speak with me after the meetings. They say the messages were exactly what they needed to hear. They say these spoken words are giving them courage to face their fears and hope to face the future. And they give me lots of kisses. Left cheek, right cheek, and left again. My heart is becoming more and more entwined with theirs.

Another travel day….back on the train again. We spent about three hours rattling down the tracks toward Warsaw, capital of Poland. Along the tracks approaching the city I saw homes barely bigger than a shoebox, looking broken and abandoned. Apparently these are homes where city dwellers come for weekends. They plant vegetable gardens on these wee plots of land. One Polish university student told us, “These vegetables must taste like iron!”

The moment our train pulled into the downtown station, our contact was there to meet us. She flagged a taxi and we headed for the home where we’d stay for the next three nights. It was 5:15 p.m. – rush hour. Ha! Who came up with that expression? It was anything but a rush; we sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic for more than an hour.

Immediately outside the station stood the Palace of Culture – the largest, fanciest structure I’ve ever seen. Our escort told us that it was built by the Russians after WWII, as a “gift” to the people of Poland. Its height and breadth intentionally stood to remind the Polish people of the Russians’ dominance. Even today, it towers over all other buildings in the downtown core. Its presence stirs mixed emotions among the city’s citizens. Some hate it because it reminds them of Communist rule. These folks want to raze it and build something else in its place. Others argue that it’s a piece of their history and needs to remain as a monument to what’s taken place in the past.

I’m realizing more and more that I need to read about the history of this country. There’s so much to learn. If I’m going to truly understand the needs and thinking of these precious people, I have to gain a better understanding of where they’ve come from.

I wake early this morning knowing this is the day my father’s life will be celebrated, and that I am not able to participate. How does one begin to process these emotions? There’s no easy answer. No answer that satisfies once for all. One thing was for sure – I refuse to sit alone and feel sorry for myself. Rather, I know God had planted me in Poland with several IM sisters for a reason beyond my comprehension, and regardless of the sad circumstances, this is a day that He had made. I choose to rejoice and be glad in it.

As a believer, I have every reason to celebrate and be glad. If my faith in Jesus Christ is true, then it’s only my dad’s earthly shell being lowered into a grave today. Because Jesus died and rose again, Dad is walking those golden streets and singing like he’s never sung before. That knowledge brings me a peace I cannot deny amidst the grief. Tears spring to my eyes at the mere thought of my family back home, gathering around the graveside this morning. I would desperately love to be with them and the multitude of relatives and friends who will attend the memorial service later in the day, but that’s not to be. I’ll spend the day with my IM family instead, thankful that I’m not alone during this time.

Later….

I’m grateful for Skype. Gene and I talked via typing for nearly an hour before anyone stirred in the house where I’m staying now. He told me that God protected him, our kids, and grandbaby Anna last night when the car in which they were driving hit black ice, slid into a concrete barrier on the roadside, and made three complete spins before coming to a stop. Protection on icy winter roads – another reason to celebrate.

I’m grateful for my IM sisters. Bozena (our hostess), Iwona, Diane, Janna, and I visited a modern shopping mall this morning, picked up a few groceries, and went for lunch to a little restaurant that specializes in perogies. I’ve visited Chinese restaurants in which friends order several different dishes and share them. That’s what we did here: meat and cheese perogies, meat only perogies, blueberry perogies, lazy perogies, and the list went on. Add a bowl of beet borscht, and the meal was complete. Then off we went, walking down the main street of Kelice toward Janna’s home.

It was on along this walk that I realized God had given this day to me as a gift. In the midst of my sorrow, He gave me laughter. Wholesome, hearty laughter. At first I wondered if laughing today would be an affront to my family. But then I realized that He was using it to carry me through difficult time. It wasn’t disrespectful to those grieving back in Canada. It was a dose of divine medicine. “Laughter does good like a medicine.”

Here’s one example. Until this point, my PIN number hadn’t worked in a cash machine. When I saw a machine on the outside wall of a corner bank, I decided to try again. Diane leaned in close to protect my privacy. I entered the four digits only to be rejected again as invalid. “Okay, then,” I said. “I have only one other number that might be a possibility.” I entered those four digits and presto! The machine sprang into action. Without giving it a thought, I blurted out something that resembled a loud “Yahoo!” In retrospect, it probably sounded like something a Las Vegas gambler might have hollered if he hit the jackpot.

Diane burst into fits of laughter. Her response sent me into fits of laughter, too. We turned from the machine to see Iwona walk away, pretending not to know us. Passersby gawked with puzzled expressions on their faces as we nearly doubled over. We weren’t meaning to be culturally inept, honestly, but for whatever reason, we simply couldn’t help ourselves. Yes, laughter works good like a medicine.

When we returned to the house later that evening, I’d hoped to watch my dad’s funeral on Skype. Gene and our son had tried to hook up a video camera to a laptop but their efforts didn’t work. Disappointment brought tears to my eyes again, but Diane and I redeemed the situation by spending time in prayer as my family gathered for the memorial service.

Wow – what an emotional journey. I’m so thankful for God’s presence and for His presents – my IM friends. This day was a remarkable gift.

Bless Iwona’s heart – she showed up at the hostel this morning with smoked cheese and ham to put on our bread for breakfast. “I must care for the strangers in our land,” she said again. “God says so.” She’s doing a good job!

This morning we caught a train to Keilce where several other IM coworkers live. God has a way of sending angels to make sure we get to where we need to be. At the Cracow train station, we climbed three flights of stairs, dragging our luggage behind us, to reach the platform for our train. We’d just reached the platform when an announcement came over the loudspeaker saying that, for today only, this particular train would leave from a different platform. Thank goodness Iwona spoke Polish and understood the announcement. Diane and I would have missed it completely. So we raced (if that’s possible with tons of luggage) down the three flights of stairs and up another three flights. I was exhausted!

Just as we reached the train’s stairs, a man saw us struggling with our bags and stepped up to help. He grabbed our suitcases, climbed aboard the train, and placed them overhead in our compartment. “This is how I earn a living,” he said, so Iwona paid him and gave him a tract and a Bible. Another evidence of God’s caring for us as we travel.

Iwona and Diane on train. Note the tulips!

In a few hours we’ll head to another women’s meeting. And again, we trust the Lord to bless the women through us. I’m trusting Him to accomplish great things again. Tonight is the family visitation at the funeral home and I’m not there. “God, please don’t let this sacrifice be for naught.”

What a day this turned out to be! The room filled with women of all ages – from mothers with nursing babies to little grannies. Iwona was delighted to see an elderly woman with whom she’d shared Christ a few days ago – a lady who’d given up hope for living. When I got up to speak, I felt as though the women weren’t sure what to expect. They’d come out of curiosity about the theme – “Fearless and Free” – but unsure about me as a North American woman bringing the message and about the message itself. I felt a little unsure, too, speaking through a translator to these women who live in a different culture and wondering about the relevance of my message to the specific needs in their lives.

It didn’t take long to see that the theme was the right one. When I listed various fears that women struggle with and then asked for a show of hands from those who could relate, many hands went up. As the women looked around the room, an expression of surprise went up. It seemed they were pleasantly surprised to see that they weren’t the only ones struggling in this way.

It also didn’t take long to see that the message about facing the storms in our lives was exactly what some needed to hear. Several women had tears running down their cheeks. There was a 15-minute break between session one and two, and during that time a couple of women came to speak with me. One spoke broken English. She handed me a handwritten note, also in broken English, that said, “I in storm for eight years. Divorce. Husband abuse my children.” She turned her back to the women behind her and her eyes filled with tears. She allowed me to give her a big hug and then pray for her. A woman with a broken heart – “God, please embrace her and be her refuge. Be her help in this time of trouble.”

By the time we reached the end of the third session, I knew the women felt comfortable. I presented the Gospel message and invited them to pray with me if they wanted to place their saving faith in Christ. I also asked them to take a piece of blank paper and write out the pain and shame from their past, and to give it to the Lord once for all by ripping it up. Within a couple of minutes, the sound of tearing paper could be heard across the room. What a joy to know that the Lord was working in their hearts. “Thank You, God, for beginning this good work in their lives. Please bring it to perfection. Amen.”

After the conference, Diane and I enjoyed dinner with three IM gals. What a joy to get to know them better. I pray that over time, as I get to know them better, I might bring encouragement to them in their ministries. And after dinner, Iwona took us to see a massive cathedral – it was an amazing structure. How does one describe it? I wish I could post a picture but taking photos was not allowed. Statues of the saints, gold filigree, intricate handpainted design on the ceiling, stained glass windows. Amazing architecture.

People were kneeling and praying. There was an attitude of reverence and quiet and yet, one can’t help but think of the human tradition on which their religion is based. It’s not about relationship. There was no joy on the people’s faces. “Lord, draw them to Yourself. Shine Your light into their hearts.”

And then Iwona took us to yet another restaurant for hot chocolate (thick, like drinking a melted dark chocolate candy bar) and fresh lemon torte. Oh my. There’s no way I can lose weight on this trip! After that, she said, “Come! I’ll show you where Copernicus went to university.” So off we went, down a narrow cobblestone street, to the very door through which Copernicus entered to study.

By the time we reached the hostel, Diane and I were so tired that we could hardly stand up. But that’s when heart-to-heart woman-talk began. She shared with me the details of losing her 26-year-old son to a brain aneurysm 11 years ago. Now I know why she’s responsible for missionary care. Her heart is so tender and caring. I’m in good hands at this time.