The Moscow Circus

Mom, Dad, you won’t believe this! Listening to our daughter, we agreed; the story defied human belief.

First, we must revisit a question posed to us on numerous occasions; “Did you ever wonder if investing your lives in ministry behind The Iron Curtain was worth it?”

Worth it?! Living our lives behind The Iron Curtain constituted one of the greatest privileges a person could ever imagine. Over the years of our clandestine existence, I possessed the unimaginable opportunity to sit in the audience and watch the amazing works of God.

Sometimes He involved me as a stagehand, and sometimes He wrote me into the script. Other times, I watched from backstage. Always, He was the Director, Producer, and Choreographer. We gazed speechless, and witnessed happenings that prophets of old longed to see.

One particular story from 1990 serves to answer with precise clarity the aforementioned question, “Was it worth it?” Allow me to explain.

Our little infant girl, our firstborn, who accompanied us to live in Poland in1977, grew up speaking the Polish language. Later, as a young teenager, she found herself staying at a hotel in Manila of the Philippines.  

The summer of 1990, she participated in a missions project with Student Venture, the high school ministry of Campus Crusade for Christ. Near project’ s end, she and her international missions project providentially lodged in the same hotel where the famous Moscow Circus was staying.  

Keep in mind, during the Cold War, the Soviet Union denied ordinary citizens freedom to travel abroad. However, like the Olympic athletes and the Bolshoi Ballet, the members of The Circus were icons within the Soviet ideology, and were granted traveling privileges. Holding elitist status, these prestigious groups served government purposes of propaganda. The delegations traveled internationally, performed, and promoted the communist ideology, all the while under strictest surveillance.

So, how is this relevant?

Well, by the sovereign Hand of God, an adult leader of our daughter’s mission group secured an official evangelistic meeting with members of The Circus. Yet, an insurmountable obstacle threatened to derail the unprecedented opportunity; no Russian speaker (who also spoke English) could be found to translate.

When confronted with the crisis, our daughter explained, "I don’t speak Russian, but I do speak Polish.”  

Then, the discovery was made that the Moscow Circus' young tightrope walker, was fluent in Polish. Because her grandmother was Polish, she knew the Polish language.

Plans moved forward, the group convened, and the meeting occurred. There, around a hotel pool in Manilla, our American daughter, who grew up to clandestine missionaries in Poland, verbally presented the The Four Spiritual Laws in Polish. A tightrope walker representing an atheist nation (whose grandmother just so happened to be Polish), listened in Polish, and sentence by sentence, translated the message of salvation from Polish into Russian for this Russian speaking audience, the renowned Moscow Circus.

The youthful duo worked in tandem, and before closing the Gospel presentation, an opportunity was presented to allow any individual—who so desired—to quietly invite Christ into their lives. The rest of the story stands recorded in the eternal volumes of heaven. For you see, that day, around an outdoor pool in southeast Asia, several members of an elite group from an atheist nation behind the Iron Curtain, did indeed invite Christ into their lives. That day their names were written in The Lamb’s Book of Life.

And God gets all the glory (Psalm 115:1). He faithfully protected one small missionary family in communist Poland where a child learned to speak Polish in order to, one day, participate in accomplishing His greater purposes. Complicated? Not for God. He desires for all to come to a knowledge of repentance (2Pet.3:9).

Now you understand why I never hesitate to marvel and give praise to God when asked, “Did you ever wonder if investing your lives in ministry behind The Iron Curtain was worth it?”

Living with Eternal Intentionality: Where can you look back over your own life and now see the Hand of God working to orchestrate His greater purposes?

He Giveth More Grace

Her shaky voice on the other end of the line troubled me. The seriousness of her situation justified concern. Sick children and her traveling husband increased the weight of her own fragile health. Dark clouds loomed over the word tomorrow.

With her permission, I sent a copy of a poem which once lighted a dark path for me. From my own reservoir of resources I shared with my friend.

I remember the night our little one cried out with a raging fever. Bringing him into bed with us, I listened to his shallow, rattling breathing which left no mystery. This was pneumonia, and the unfamiliar culture we lived in expected us to wait until morning when the doctor opened his office.

I was scared; I was scared for the life of my child. How I longed for dawn to break forth. As I waited (and worried) I rehearsed the words of this beloved poem by Annie Flint Johnson.

Now today, decades later, perhaps the solace it once offered to me would encourage the heart and soul of my dear friend.

He Giveth More Grace

He giveth more grace when the burdens grow greater,

He giveth more strength when the labors increase;

To added affliction He addeth His mercy;

To multiplied trials, His multiplied peace.

When we have exhausted our store of endurance, 

When our strength has failed ere the day is half done,

When we reach the end of our hoarded resources,

Our Father’s full giving is only begun.

His love has no limit.

His grace has no measure;

His power has no boundary known unto men;

For out of His infinite riches in Jesus,

He giveth and giveth and giveth again.

Living with Eternal Intentionality: When have you seen God rally and provide His supernatural resources to cope with the circumstances you faced?

(2 Corinthians 12:9 And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.)

Remember First Grade?

Remember first grade? I do.

One bright sunny September morning, I crawled into the front seat of our burnt orange and white automobile. My life stood on the brink of change. The much-anticipated first day of first grade finally arrived. 

I wore a new pink dress with a small black velvet bow attached to the collar, as I clutched a plaid book satchel of primary colors by at my side. Inside the bag, the contents represented a list for all first graders: an oversized wooden pencil and a large writing tablet. I attempted a grin, but truthfully, jitters danced in my stomach. For this timid, only child, the day held countless unknowns.

My Mother and I drove together the eighteen miles to a two story, austere red brick building, and parked on the curb out front. I didn’t think much about my Mother that day, except to notice she wore stilettos and looked especially pretty.

As I held tightly to my Mother’s hand, we entered doors that changed both her world and mine.

From First Grade:                                                                                                                               I remember Miss Boyce, my teacher

I remember not being placed in the accelerated reading group

I remember taking naps on the floor after lunch

I remember being confused by math (arithmetic, it was)

I remember getting paddled in the coatroom for talking too much

I remember our program for parents when I sang a duet

I remember Sally, Dick, Jane, Puff and Spot, who became my beloved companions

I remember The Kiddie Band and being disappointed with my assigned instrument, the triangle

I remember overwhelming relief to open my end of year report card and discover my promotion 

After first grade, I tucked the memories away and left them behind. Until - one day on the sidewalk outside the American School of Warsaw in Warsaw, Poland - my memories of first grade unsuspectingly returned.

Now, I was the Mother, and the hand I held was that of my own little girl. She wore a new pink dress with smocking, and she carried a carefully selected book bag. I will forever feel the clutch of her little hand nestled in mine as we stood together and quietly considered our next move. 

With one unplanned squeeze from her little hand, she and I stepped forward and entered doors that changed both her world and mine. Why of course, I remember first grade.

Living with Eternal Intentionality: When you see a mom holding a child’s hand and entering the doors of a school, I suggest you pause, pray, and smile to remember your own first grade.