2. Tanya, We Went Through Fire and Water

But You led us to a place of abundance. (Psalm 66:12)

“Hello. My name is Tanya.”

It was 1977. Larry and I were with our Polish language institute on a three-day cultural excursion to Krakow. This young woman’s abrupt introduction interrupted our early morning daze as we stood mindlessly in the lobby of our communist youth hostel. Others in our group mingled around, but she came directly to Larry and me. She wore an orange turtleneck sweater, though it was the middle of summer. Her short hair had a mind of its own; her worn jeans needed washing. Her only luggage was a well-traveled backpack.

“May I please join your tour group?” Her odd question, spoken in perfect English, made more sense when she explained further. “I am from the Soviet Union; my home is Leningrad. For the first time in my life, I have a passport to travel outside the borders of my country. I may never get this opportunity again. If I could travel with your group on your bus, I could see so much more than I can ever see traveling on my own.”

With approval from our leader-lecturer, Tanya from Leningrad boarded our bus. This providential work of God was rapidly redefining my definition of “divine appointment.” In a Polish youth hostel packed with travelers, He brought Tanya from the Soviet Union to us, two covert American missionaries. 

The opportunity to share the Gospel came soon, and Tanya listened with the hunger of the Ethiopian in The Book of Acts. I pray I never recover from her response when asked, “Would you like to invite Christ into your heart?”

“Yes, yes I would. But first, I need to tell you an unusual story from this past year.”

She continued. “I was walking home from university on a cold, November afternoon. My route took me past one of the Foreigners’ Hotels, and suddenly something fell on the ground in front of my feet. I looked up to see someone throwing books from a top floor window of the building, and one of these books landed there at my feet. I hastily grabbed it, tucked it in my heavy winter coat, and ran for my life. I knew if the police saw me, I would be arrested. Fortunately, I was able to make it safely home. With frozen fingers, I hurriedly unlocked the doors to our family flat. In the privacy of my own room, I removed the object form inside my coat. I was shocked to discover this Book was a Bible. I did not own a Bible, and I had never read a Bible.”

She kept going. “Since November, I have been reading it, and I am prepared. Without that Bible, I would never have been able to comprehend this conversation we are having. Now I understand; I want to respond to what you have shared with me. I want to invite Christ to come into my life.”

Heaven and earth stood still as two heads bowed, one head from Mississippi, and one head from Leningrad. Our heads bowed, and our hearts merged as Tanya invited Jesus into her heart to be her Lord and Savior. 

I have not seen or heard from her since. For her safety, we did not exchange addresses. I don’t even know her last name, but I know her eternal name is written in The Lamb’s Book of Life.  One day we will meet again at The Feet of the One whom Tanya from Leningrad came to call “her own.”

This heaven-orchestrated appointment taught me:
Different country
Different culture
Different language
Different government
But…
Same Gospel. Same God.

If you dare, I invite you to read further. 
Months, even years, passed before I learned, what I believe with all my heart, could be the other part of this story. In the chill of the Cold War, one of our personal ministry donors and dear friend, Miss Scottie from Mississippi, was part of a delegation to the Soviet Union. Her highly guarded trip included Leningrad. Compelled by the Holy Spirit, she tossed her smuggled Bibles from the top floor of the Foreigners’ Hotel where she and her group were forced to reside. One by one, as she threw the Bibles from her window, she prayed for someone to pick them up. Yes, this is a true story.

One woman
     One Bible
          One student
               One missionary
                    One God
                         One Gospel
                              

Picking Up the Pieces

Every time I think back to that autumn afternoon I feel a surge of pain. If there were a way to remove it and start again, I would do it. 

It was late in the day, and the children had just bounded into the tiny foyer of our German row house. The bus had dropped them off at the outermost edge of our housing complex, and they enthusiastically, energetically tumbled into the door. The school day was over, and they were glad to be home. They would have their after-school snack and hurry off to play. The tight space of the entryway was hardly big enough for one adult, much less three exuberant children. The green tile floor, the sheer curtains, the mahogany shrunk became the stage props for the drama about to unfold.

The momentum was ahead of me. I had not finished the last thing that needed to be done before they came home, and I was battling a measure of frustration both with myself and with the clock. Though the table was set with milk and cookies, I was not there to greet them when they turned the knob. 

As I sighed and emerged from ironing in the basement, I saw staring at me the unwelcome sight of everyone’s coats, shoes, and backpacks tossed recklessly in a heap on the tiny amount of floor space, thus blocking any hope of pathway to the front door. 

My mind went into overdrive. “How could this be? They all knew this was wrong. They knew this was against house rules, and it was not the first time this had happened. A pattern was developing, and before long this would be a habit. There is not enough floor space for all this stuff. What if we had a fire? We could never make it out. All three of them are old enough to know better. We have rehearsed this countless time. They are just ignoring me. Something must change.” Though this occurred nearly thirty years ago, I can still feel the tension. Adrenalin and aggravation formulated a plan that to this day I regret. 

So, (and here is the moment that I would take back), I proceeded to exercise my parental authority and with ceremonial emphasis, I tossed each coat and each backpack out the front door and onto our small porch. Toss being the operative word. There. Backpacks and coats and shoes are to be placed in the closet and not on the floor, right? This is sure to solve the problem. Good.

Then this little girl turned the corner and with a look of horror said, “But Mommy. My. Clay. Art. Project. Was. In. My. Backpack.  We got to bring them home today. I couldn’t wait to show it to you.” In her plaid dress with hair pulled back with barrettes, she opened the front door and retrieved her bulky German backpack from the mass heap. Heaven and earth stood still as she slowly pulled out the two halves of what once was a child’s work of art.

“Oh dear Jesus, what have I done? She made a mistake, and I made a mountain out of a molehill. Oh the pain I have caused for wanting to teach a lesson. Her precious art project is the victim.”

Kneeling down and wrapping her into my arms I said, “Sweetheart, I am so, so sorry. Will you please forgive me? Please, please forgive me. I was way too quick and I was wrong. I love you so much.” Her pure, gracious response of, “I forgive you, Mommy,” moved us forward into the kitchen where we worked arduously to glue the object back together. 

As long as we lived in that house, the item held a place of honor on the shelf in her room. She was so very proud of it, and never mentioned the incident again. That spoke volumes to me.

From time to time, alone in her room, I would look long and hard at the childish artifact, and again feel so childish myself. The crack, imperceptible to any but me, reminded me of my humanness and and her graciousness.

Mothers don’t always get it right. When we are wrong, we must admit it. When we offend, we must ask for forgiveness. Relationships can thrive in an environment of love, grace, and forgiveness, even when we wish we could rewrite the script. What can’t be taken back can be taken over by The Holy Spirit of God. He alone is able to redeem our mistakes and help us move forward. “Forget what lies behind and look forward to what lies ahead.” (Philippians 3:13) 

Question: What incident in your own life do you recall that can't be taken back, and needs to be taken over by the Holy Spirit?

10 Tips to Transform Your Travel

Aka How to Pack a Suitcase

Humiliation. Not good. My innermost beings were strewn across the tile floor of the airport lobby. The check-in agent had declared my bag overweight. With her czarina-type declaration, the purging commenced. I was hot and unhappy amidst my slinging, flinging, shoving, and stuffing . Other passengers tried to step around me offering their various bits of advice. Some were sarcastic, some were sympathetic; none were helpful. I was in a race against the clock. I muttered under my breath, “If I ever get out of this alive, it will NEVER happen again.” 

The disastrous day is a distant memory, but I still find myself thinking a suitcase is a tool of the devil. The iconic symbol of travel threatens like nothing else to bring out the grrrr in me.

So, can anything be done to rise above this onslaught of decision-making that precedes getting out the door on a trip? Yes, peaceful packing can become a practice. After more than 45 years of international travel, I have gleaned a few tips to help eliminate the paralyzing “what if” of packing, and send you sailing with a jolly “Bon Voyage.” Here they are:

1.    Pray. Take charge. Don’t over-think; be decisive.
2.    Start 2 days ahead. Place your suitcase in a separate room other than your bedroom. Do your laundry first.
3.    Place hanging clothes on a door rack to view your choices.
4.    Pack in daylight, not at night. Begin by counting out underwear.
5.    Use Eagle Creek packing cubes for categories.
6.    Think simple, think solids.
7.    Minimize shoes. Always take a dress. 
8.    Remove at least 2 items. Be realistic, but not ruthless. You do need clothes and supplies where you are going.
9.    Place a versatile windbreaker and a small empty duffle in the outside pocket of your suitcase.
10.    Know your enemy. Weigh bags at home. 
11.    [OK, this is a bonus tip. Always, always leave one clean pair of underwear in your drawer at home. Why? In the event your suitcase is lost or delayed upon returning, you will at least have one clean pair of undies waiting. 
Note: When I shared this with my 8-year-old granddaughter, she very quickly asked, “Gammy, did you learn this the hard way?!”]

Once the suitcase is zipped, and you are ready to go, you can pull up to the airport curb without a knot in your stomach. As the ticket agent smiles at you and says, “Place your bag here on the scale,” you can confidently look her in the eye, knowing that you made the cut. Victory. Bye-bye bag.

Question: What is your best packing tip?