There is a time in all of our lives, no matter how old or young we are, that we need to stop and evaluate things—do a sort of assessment of where we are and why we are doing what we are doing. Friends said to me once they always felt kind of guilty when hanging around missionaries. Like they themselves weren’t doing enough for the Kingdom. I think “doing enough for the Kingdom” isn’t really the point. I think the point is whatever we’re doing we do out of obedience. A guy in an accounting firm in Chicago is not any less called than the brave missionary couple who boards the plane for Africa with three small kids. And the missionary couple can actually be disobedient if God hasn’t called them to Africa, but they are going out of guilt, piety, or a wrong sense of duty.

Our journey with God in Christ Jesus isn’t about formulas, checklists, dos and don’ts. Our journey with God in Christ Jesus is about a relationship that calls us into holy obedience where we say to our Savior, “Yes Lord, to anything You ask!” For some of us that might mean getting on a plane, for others it might mean working in an accounting firm in Chicago. For all of us it means seeking the Father’s face to bring glory and honor to Him wherever we are. I’ve always said, “Crossing and ocean does not a missionary make.” We are ALL missionaries when we live missional lives in our everyday existence. Accounting is as holy a calling as preaching. Teaching physics is as holy a calling as teaching New Testament. Working at a restaurant is as holy a calling as working at a church. AS LONG AS WE ARE DOING THESE VOCATIONS AND ACTIVITIES OUT OF OBEDIENCE. I’m not saying everyone is called to live overseas, outside his/her comfort zone—I am saying we are all called to do something and we need to find out what that “something” is and then DO IT.

Ephesians 2:10, “For we are God’s masterpiece (workmanship) created in Christ Jesus to do good works which He planned long ago for us to walk in.”

And it’s our job to find out what those “good works” are. Is it to be a plumber? Is it to be a stay-at-home mom? Is it to be a teacher? A businessperson? Is it to be an overseas missionary?

It is important that we do what we do with Christ in mind and once we figure what those “good works” are, we do them with our whole hearts, minds, and all of our strength. We honor God when we obey Him in the daily, mundane tasks of life. We bring glory to Him when we share our love for Jesus Christ with others—when we love them, pray for them, help them, befriend them—not to sell Jesus, not to be a marketing rep for the Gospel, but because they are important and significant human beings. Because Christ asks us to.

Life with Jesus is more than just a journey. It’s more than getting from point A to point B. It’s more than even arriving at the Final Destination (Heaven). Life with Jesus is about communion with Him. Talking with Him. Inviting Him into every decision, every circumstance, every job, every activity and saying, “Lord what is Your will and way in this?” If you are not called to be a mechanic or a doctor or a chef, then what IS IT that you are called to be? Living in Christ means to find out what is God’s will and then doing it.

Romans 12: 1-2, A Living Sacrifice to God, “And so, dear brothers and sisters, I plead with you to give your bodies to God because of all He has done for you. Let them be a living and holy sacrifice—the kind He will find acceptable. This is truly the way to worship Him. Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. Then you will learn to know God’s will for you, which is good and pleasing and perfect.” Renewed. New creation. We are new persons living in Christ Jesus and inviting Him to lead the way. He longs to be with us, to guide us, to lead us. He created us for communion, fellowship and when we long for that too our callings become well defined and obedience our greatest joy. Peace.

Okay guys! Please forgive me in advance for using the blog for a newsletter. Daryl was in the hospital for five days! He’s never been in the hospital in his life! (Yes, birth, but that’s all). We’ve lost two weeks of prep time getting him well. He still has a little infection and is on a heavy-duty antibiotic. We need your prayers. Our VISAs came. Praise God. We’re getting packed. Praise God. IICS has hired a new EVP. Praise God. But I have 13,000 readers on this blog and I need to let folks know the details of our transition and what it all will look like. I hope you’ll forgive me! I will keep blogging while we’re overseas. Blessings and thanks. We need your prayers! Teri

Dear Family and Friends:

The McCarthys are moving to Klaipeda, Lithuania, on August 26! After years of recruiting and deploying Christian professors to teach in universities abroad, we finally get to go! And we are very excited.

This summer Teri taught a class at Lithuania International University (formerly Lithuania Christian College, www.lcc.lt ) and she fell in love with the place. When the university offered her a fulltime position as the English Department Chair she accepted. And so the adventure begins. We will live on campus until we find an apartment. We’ll come home Christmas and for the summer. We truly believe this is God’s leading and His will for our lives. We have overwhelming peace and joy about the move.

Daryl will continue to lead the International Institute for Christian Studies (IICS) through Skype and conference calls, daily emails and trips to the US every six to eight weeks. IICS has a great home office staff and everyone does their jobs with excellence. Daryl will also work on contacts in Europe—donors as well as Christian academics. We think an IICS Europe would be amazing.

Lithuania is one of the Baltic States (part of the Soviet Union until 1990). In 2004, it joined the European Union and NATO. Lithuania has 3.7 million people and Klaipeda, our city, has a population of 187,000. One of its claims to fame is that it was the last nation in Europe to be converted. Some Lithuanians are proud that their ancestors held out against Christianity. However, Christianity did eventually take hold in Lithuania and was a presence there for centuries. But the years under communism and Soviet occupation left a widespread legacy of atheism, agnosticism and hopelessness.

It’s hard to believe that Lithuania has the highest suicide rate in the world. Thirty Lithuanians take their own lives each week! That’s an epidemic. So while the country is modern and developed, the need is great for the Good News found only in Jesus Christ. Please pray that Jesus’ light and love will shine through our lives and that we can be a fragrance of His truth to those seeking hope and healing.

Why are we going overseas at this stage in our lives? For Teri nearing 50 was a strange experience. People talk about milestone birthdays—there’s the “Big 3-0” and “over-the-hill 50.” But for Teri the milestone birthday was 48. She realized then she had a limited amount of time left on earth. Think about it! It’s not really middle aged. How many 96 year-old people do you know?

Reflecting on that, she felt an urgency to really make life count. She wanted the time left to be well-lived and eternally significant. So at 48, she sat Daryl down and said, “I gotta be teaching overseas.” He hesitated. For over 20 years Daryl’s been running IICS, mobilizing academic missionaries to teach overseas in secular universities. In fact, all of our married life has been centered on the missional call of IICS. You can imagine his dilemma—he runs the ministry; he’s one of its founders. Daryl paused, took a deep breath and with tears he said, “This is your decade Teri!”

Teri started applying for teaching positions around the world. Then unexpectedly an ankle broke, a gall bladder got taken out and two years had come and gone before we knew it. For Teri’s 50th birthday last year we went to Lithuania. We had been there once and she had a strong attraction to the country. While in Klaipeda that year, we met LCCIU’s vice president, who invited Teri to teach in the school’s newly launched MA in TESOL program. She jumped at the chance and went to Klaipeda this June.

Teri’s first day on campus she met professors and caught glimpses of students and she liked it. When it was time to teach her class she was prepared. She had lecture notes, a PowerPoint, handouts. She put everything in her bag and walked over to the main building to find her classroom. It was early. Students hadn’t arrived yet. She put a quote on the board, rearranged the desks and she started coming alive. “Is this how Lazarus felt?” she wondered. Was his coming back to life a tingling sensation in his limbs and a fire in his belly? She knew these waters; they were familiar to her. Students began coming in and it was time to start class. Teri was finally home!

Each one of us was designed for a specific purpose and plan. God loves us. He longs to work through our lives to touch a hurt and dying world. Standing in that classroom watching students grasp difficult concepts and interact with ideas Teri knew this was what she was created for. She was created to teach in a distant classroom.

We’ll celebrate our 16th wedding anniversary the day we arrive in Klaipeda. What a wonderful way to celebrate. We’re happy and scared; nervous and excited; clear and foggy—all at the same time! We have no idea how all the details will work out! Can we afford it? No, not really. But we can’t afford NOT to go. Do we need to sell our house? Yes. But right now it needs some paint and the market is lousy. Do we have kids and grandkids and parents and family and friends we dearly love and will sorely miss? Absolutely. Do we have stuff and cars and an organization to run? Yes. But we both know this is what God is leading us to do. And we’ve never been happier.

We need your prayers. We long to see God move by His Spirit among the people of Klaipeda. Please ask God to give us wisdom concerning all these details. But most importantly, please ask God that we might be found faithful. We’re going and it is a huge step of faith for us.

And yes, you guessed it! We need your support. Although the university is paying Teri a partial salary, we have to raise funds. We need to cover all the mundane expenses like housing, utilities, health insurance, books and supplies. We need to raise around $30,000.

Since Daryl is still responsible for raising the general operating budget for IICS, naturally we don’t want anyone to cut back on supporting IICS’s general fund or any IICS professor. But we would be honored if you could support us in our work in Lithuania as we go to reach students for Christ.

You can give several different ways.
• Send a check to “IICS” (write “Teri McCarthy Project” on it). The mailing address is below.
• Give on-line at www.iics.com/giving.html and indicate the amount of your gift or pledge beside our name.
• Call IICS at 1-800-776-4427 and give by credit card.
• Designate a certain amount to be withdrawn from your account each month or quarter. You can print off the form at our website, www.iics.com/electronic_funds.html.

We need your prayers as we transition into this new stage of life. Please pray for health and strength and the anointing for us. Please pray for our students, fellow faculty members and the nation of Lithuania. We look forward to hearing from you. If you have any questions, just call us or email us. We’d love to visit.

Going in His Name and in His Joy,

Daryl and Teri McCarthy
dm@iics.com; 913.980.4427
teri@iics.com; 913.486.0954; Skype: teri.mccarthy

International Institute for Christian Studies (IICS)
PO Box 12147
Overland Park, KS 66282 USA
800-776-4427

We leave in five weeks. FIVE WEEKS! Penkias savaites! (Uh…that’s Lithuanian for five weeks.) Honestly, I can’t believe it. We’re heading to Klaipeda. Klaipeda of all places. Klaipeda, Lithuania. We leave August 26th. I’m so excited and I can’t wait to get in the classroom and meet my students and get into the culture and learn new things. But, and this is a pretty big but, there’s a whole lot to do before August 26th. Please be praying for Daryl and me. We want to sell our house, but don’t have enough time to get everything clean, cleared and fixed before we go. We need to raise some mula, but need to go ahead and start classes before the cash arrives. (Is this faith?) There are doctors’ appointments (Lithuania needs to see a clean bill of health before we join their socialized medical system). There are dinners and lunches with good friends to say good bye. There’s outfitting to do ‘cause Klaipeda’s got some very cold winters and I haven’t owned a winter coat for years! We have checklists and details and mail holds and paper cancelations and so much stuff zooming through our heads that I actually fear mine might explode. Do heads really explode? Maybe. Mine could.

And in the midst of all this I don’t want to lose the joy and excitement of this missional call. He Who called us is faithful and He will do it. Isn’t that what the Bible says? We had to buy two new suitcases yesterday. We always go to Walmart and buy $39.99 suitcases that last about three or four trips. Daryl said we needed to get better ones. So, we went to Macy’s ‘cause they were having a sale on luggage. We found two good ones that were a bit pricey, but they were 50 percent off. When the sales lady saw us struggling to make a decision and hearing our discussion, she brought over a coupon for an additional 15 percent off and said, “Will this make your decision any easier? I’m not really supposed to do this, but I want to help you folks out.” And she did and it saved us a lot. I hate spending money, but God provided that. He provided through that nice sales lady at Macy’s. Thank you nice sales lady!

What about our cars? The lawn being mowed? What if pipes freeze or things break or a tornado hits or or or or …these are the small things that can really bug me and rob me of my joy. But there are other things, the big things, which keep me up at night and rob me of peace.

My Dad. What’s going to happen to my Dad and what if he passes while I’m gone? Our grandkids? We have a brand new baby granddaughter born June 11th and two amazing little grandsons, Jack, 3, and Kempis, 2. What about our loved ones who will celebrate birthdays and anniversaries and milestones in their lives and we won’t be here for those events? What about those things?

Jesus said, “And everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or fields for my sake will…inherit eternal life” (Matthew 19:29). I want to inherit eternal life yes, but I also want to give my life to those who have never understood the message of Jesus. I want to be His hands and His feet and His arms. I want to invest in the lives of students who have said to me, “I feel so hollow inside.” Our kids know Jesus. They are following Him (thankfully). They are committed to their churches and to the Gospel message. Our families are followers of Christ and yet there are those in Lithuania that don’t know Him, not personally, not in the way we should know Him. Students in Klaipeda are atheists by default. The years of reign by the Soviet Union robbed this country of its faith. Generations were taught there is no God and now 20 years after the collapse of communism the small nation of Lithuania suffers from the highest suicide rate in the world. There is pandemic drug abuse and alcoholism. A news report by Justin Webber states, “Lithuania has the highest suicide rate in the world. It’s doubled in the last 10 years, overtaking former record holders such as Hungary, and leaving other Baltic States behind.”

In fact it’s epidemic. Fifteen hundred (1500) people commit suicide each year in Lithuania. That’s 30 lives a week in a country with a population of only 3.7 million. Dr. Darius Puras an MD fighting for the lives of fellow citizens says, “There is a lot of cynical thinking in Eastern block [sic] countries. That it is maybe better to let the weak die.”

“Let the weak die.” Isn’t that pure Darwinism? Survival of the fittest? Who says teaching evolution theory doesn’t have consequences? Natural selection becomes a rationalization for suicide and no one values the human life.

And so we go. And we pray that we’ll be effective. We pray that we’ll be the fragrance of Jesus and that we can share His hope and love with a nation that is struggling to find the meaning of life. We’ll build relationships with students and hopefully their families, our neighbors, colleagues and we’ll ask our loving Savior to touch their lives and to transform them just as He has touched our lives and transformed us. We go because we want to be obedient and we’re finding that there is a joy unspeakable and a peace that passes understanding in the going. Do we leave precious ones behind? Yes. But we are believing that God will perfect the things concerning them as we seek Him and His way for a hurt and dying land. Please pray for us. Please pray for our families. Please pray for Lithuania.

Got questions or concerns? Please feel free to email me: teri@iics.com or call me at 913.486.0954. Some friends are asking, “What will Daryl do?” He’ll run IICS just like always only this time he’ll do it a little more “high tech”. He’ll Skype the office for regular meetings. He’ll come back to the States every six weeks to meet donors and help with recruiting. My prayer is that he’ll find time to write two books that have been burning in his soul for five or six years. I’d love to hear him preach at the International Church in Klaipeda on occasion. He also has a strong desire to start an IICS Europe. The IICS staff in Kansas City is pretty self-sufficient and everyone at the home office loves God, believes in the work and does their jobs well. We’re thankful for that.

We’re coming home for Christmas. Not highly recommended for folks trying to bond with their new culture, but necessary for us in order to make the transition work. We’ll also come back to the States for summer next year. By then we’ll know more about what we need to do to get the house ready to sell and prepare for a longer term overseas. Again with the details! Throughout all of the processes, conversations, prayers and questions there has been one thing leading and guiding us and that’s been God’s peace. We truly believe that this is His will for our lives and we go in His name and in His peace. Peace.

Every single day of my life I’ve had to make decisions. We all have. When I was a kid my Mom would ask, “What do you want for breakfast?” That’s decision making 101. When I got older my teachers in school would ask, “Do you want to pass or fail this class?” That’s decision making on a little higher level. Truthfully though, the older one gets it seems the harder the decisions. Of course that’s not the case for all people. Some kids are forced to make decisions way too complicated for them. And the converse can also be true—adults choose to make decisions that are too simplistic, perhaps too easy.

Well, recently Daryl and I had to make a decision and for us it is a pretty big decision. You see I went to teach in Lithuania this summer. Big mistake. Huge mistake! I fell in love with the place. Head-over-heels in love and the university where I was teaching offered me a full-time, long-term job.

For fifteen years I have lived in these United States full-time, long-term. Life is very convenient here. Need something? Get in the car and drive to the store and buy it. Too hot? Turn down the air conditioner. Too cold? Turn up the heat. My life here has been easy and convenient and without any physical needs really. Some might think that’s good. I have come to realize it’s not so good for me.

Self-reliance is a value or attribute we honor and respect here in America. Independence is a characteristic we actually try to instill in our children. We respect self-reliant individuals who, in the words of the late Frank Sinatra, “Did it my way!”

Self-reliance, independence, doing it my way—these aren’t really good things for me. I can actually say that if I’m working to conform to the image of Jesus Christ, these things in my life are actually harmful. In my fifteen years here in America I’m afraid I have failed in two very important and specific areas: my faith in God and my walk with Jesus. I have failed miserably. Why? Because I have been at ease in Zion (biblical reference here—sorry).

Life here has been too easy. And unlike China or Russia or Nigeria—I haven’t needed to ask God to protect me, watch over me, bless my food (and keep me from contracting a terrible disease from eating this food). I have been like a fish out of water and we all know how a fish out of water ends up. Dead. For me, it has been a spiritual death. A death of my heart and soul.

Lithuania International University invited me to come and teach in their newly launched MA in TESOL program this summer. I went alone. Daryl had to stay here in the US. I traveled to Klaipeda, the city where the school is, and I stepped foot on the campus. I liked it. I liked it a lot. I met the other professors and caught a glimpse of two or three students and I liked it even more. Finally, Monday morning rolled around and it was time for me to teach my first class for the program. I prepared. I had my lecture notes, my PowerPoint presentation, my handouts, extra pens and a highlighter. I put everything in my bag and walked over to the main building and found my classroom. It was early. Students hadn’t started arriving yet. I set up my classroom, put a quote on the board, arranged the desks and I started coming alive. Is this how Lazarus felt? Was his coming back to life a tingling sensation where limbs began to report for duty one by one to the brain? I knew this place, though I had never been there before. I knew these smells and they were sweet perfume to me. Students started coming in and then it was 9:00 and time to start.

I found home.

Each one of us was designed for a specific purpose and plan. God knew our names before we were even born and He has counted the very number of hair on each of our heads. He has written our names on the palms of His hands. He knows us. He loves us. And He longs to work through each of our lives to touch a hurt and dying world.

Standing in that classroom watching students grasp, and sometimes the material was very difficult, concepts and ideas and to see light bulbs go on I knew this is what I was created for and to NOT do this would be disingenuous and inauthentic. I was made to teach in a distant classroom. I was designed for this very thing.

So when the university asked me to come teach full-time and for long-term I said yes.

YES! Daryl and I head off to Klaipeda, Lithuania, on August 26th. We will celebrate our 16th year of marriage on August 27th. What a crazy way to celebrate. I’m happy and scared and nervous and excited and clear and foggy all at the same time! We have no idea how the details will work out! Can we afford it? No. But we can’t afford NOT to go. Do we need to sell our house? Yes. But right now it needs paint and cleanup and the market is lousy. Do we have kids and grandkids and stuff and cars and parents and an organization to run? Yes. But we both feel this is God’s will and this is what He is leading us to do. And we’ve never been happier. It’s a little like jumping off a cliff into the water. Takes your breath away but in a good way.

WE’RE MOVING TO KLAIPEDA! Even as I write the words I still have to pinch myself. All I know is that when I was in that classroom loving those students and teaching my heart out I sensed God’s good pleasure. Suddenly, after fifteen years, I remembered who I was.

Please be praying with us. Please ask God to give us wisdom and revelation knowledge concerning the details. But most importantly please ask God that we might be found faithful and true. We’re going and it is a huge step of faith and one of obedience, but we are so happy and God’s peace is truly leading us.

Let me close this post with a story. This happened to me last month in Lithuania.

My colleague and his wife are Americans who live in Moscow. Amazing couple who were in Klaipeda just for the summer; just for this course. I asked David and Cathy on Saturday morning if they’d like to go with me to find a Lithuanian church, go to the beach after the service and maybe grab a bite to eat and walk the three miles back to campus from the beach. They said, “We’re in!” So I asked an expatriate on campus who’d lived in Klaipeda for twelve years, if she knew of a good Lithuanian church we could attend. Yes, she said. City Church. She instructed me to go to the reception desk and ask to reserve a taxi for Sunday morning to take us to City Church. She gave me the name of the street and the approximate location. “It’s near the beach,” she told me. (Klaipeda is on the Baltic Sea and they have an interesting seaside).

Saturday evening I went to the reception desk and asked if we might reserve a taxi. The guy behind the desk laughed at me and said, “This is not airlines. You do not need to reserve taxi. Ha hahaha.” I still love being laughed at by nationals. Okay, so I went to bed.

The next morning David, Cathy and I went to the reception desk and asked for a taxi. The girl on duty was brand new. She wasn’t even from Klaipeda and did not know of any taxi companies. So, she used her phone, went online and found the name of a taxi company.

They had no drivers on duty.

She went back online and found another taxi company and they didn’t answer their phone (I started realizing the genius in reserving a taxi the night before).

Finally, she got a hold of a third taxi company and they said they’d send someone right away. It was a little after 10:00 and services at City Church start at 10:30. We felt we still could make it on time without being late.

At 10:20 our taxi arrived and the driver was a Russian guy who I’m betting had a few ounces of vodka in his system. Probably hadn’t slept much the night before. We piled into the car and he had no idea where we wanted to go.

Now David and Cathy speak fluent Russian because they’ve lived in Moscow for thirteen years. David tells the taxi driver the name of the church.

The taxi driver literally says, “There are many churches in the city.” Not understanding that “City Church” is the church’s name. Also, being Russian he thinks church is a big stinkin’ onion-domed building.

We know enough about City Church to know it is not in a traditional church building—but more like a school. We try to explain. “Nychivu! Nychivu! (No problem). I know where it is.”

But he didn’t.

We headed out of the parking lot lickety split as fast as we could in the wrong direction.

“David?” I say from the back seat.

“Yes?” he responds.

“Isn’t the sea that way?” I ask pointing behind us.

“Yes. Yes it is,” he says and then he starts talking to the driver.

The driver waves his hand in acknowledgement and then says to us, “I need to stop for petrol. I’ll only be a minute.”

It is now 10:30. We are officially late for church.

The driver gets out of the car and David turns to his wife Cathy and me in the back seat and says, “We gotta get rid of this guy. I think he might be drunk or just crazy.” The driver left the meter running while he was getting fuel.

Crazy Russian driver guy gets back into the taxi and heads toward the sea. And then he takes us to an oil storage container. Uh…crazy taxi guy…uh…this isn’t City Church.

“NO?” he asks amazed.

“No!” we all say in three part harmony.

He drives us some more. Finally, David says, “Just take us to the sea. You know where the sea is right?”

“ Kaneshna” (of course I do).”

After too long a time and too much crazy driving in the wrong direction David sees an abandoned building and says, “Hey! That’s it. Just let us off here.”

He turns to us in English and says, “We gotta get out of this cab. He’s racking up the cost and he’s getting us nowhere.”

Cathy and I nodded enthusiastically. We wanted out of that taxi as well.

So crazy Russian driver guy pulls over to the curb and we all jump out. David throws money at him and off the driver goes and there we three are standing on a street corner just looking around. We look up at the street sign and it says Molo. The name the expatriate gave me was Molovo.

“Could they be the same?” I ask David.

“Who knows?” He answers.

Now the great thing about David and Cathy is they love God and they know what it is like to live in a foreign land (though Russia has become their real home).

“Guys. I feel strongly that we are to be in that church.”

David and Cathy say, “We agree.”

We were compelled, propelled; we felt a strong leading to find this place.

“Jesus, please lead us. We don’t know where this place is,” I said out loud. Cathy and David nodded in agreement.

So we start walking on the street called Molo and Cathy is led to stop and ask an old woman who is selling strawberries, “Do you speak Russian?” She did.

“Can you tell us of a hall or a building where people gather on Sunday morning and sing songs and have a church service?”

The old woman thought for a moment and said, “Yes. I think so. Down this street and two bus stops turn right. There is a building where I think people meet on Sunday.”

So we went by faith, two bus stops on Molo Street and turned right. There on the small street was a lovely old building under remodeling and outside were cars and minivans and children playing and college kids with backpacks and two men standing on the front porch passing out limegreen bulletins. David says, “This has to be the place. Everyone knows you can’t have a church service without bulletins!” He smiled.

We walked up the porch steps and were greeted warmly by the bulletin passer-outer-guys. People greeted us and smiled and nodded even if they couldn’t speak English and we couldn’t speak Lithuanian we all understood our connection.

Someone kindly led us up three flights of stairs and we found the sanctuary. A nice young tech guy handed each one of us a headset and explained the church provided simultaneous English translation. We sat down in three chairs near the back and realized that summer services started at 11:00; we were actually 10 minutes early.

We all three breathed a sigh of relief.

The service started and we sang. We stood and prayed and we followed the sermon via our headsets. The girl doing the translation was excellent and very enthusiastic. The message was on the role Lithuanians played in WWII as the government partnered with Hitler to destroy the Jewish population of Lithuania. The pastor said that 136,000 Lithuanian Jews died in WWII because Christian neighbors didn’t speak out or fight to protect them.

“Our nation must ask for forgiveness and we must pray that God will forgive the sins of our fathers and grandfathers and that we might be cleansed to live righteously in His sight.” Wow. Then he talked about prayer and individualism and the oppression that hangs over Lithuania. He talked about the high suicide rate and the alcoholism and drug abuse that plagues their small nation. He spoke about the need for missionaries to come alongside the nationals to train them how to evangelize and how to pray and intercede for their communities. And I was overwhelmed.

After the service people were kind and friendly. And I kept thinking, “My heart is breaking here.” David, Cathy and I made it to the sea. It was wonderful. We ate lunch in a Russian restaurant. It was delicious. And we walked over three miles to get back to the campus. It was a lovely day and we had a great time as we talked again and again about the sovereignty of God and how He got us to that church!

Monday morning after class one of my students fiddled with her backpack until everyone had gone. Then she approached my desk.

“I saw you at church yesterday,” she timidly looked down at the floor.

“Oh!” I said a little too enthusiastically, “Do you attend there?”

“No.” She looked up from the floor. “It is only my second time. But I am seeking. My children love it there, but I am not accustomed to such things. It’s interesting for me but I don’t understand a lot of things there.”

“Really?” I asked. “Like what?” And we talked about the sermon and the music and the message and prayer and my faith in Jesus.

“I was nervous to go there even for a second time. I don’t know anyone there but I am searching for something and my children need something too. I worried yesterday morning if I was making a big mistake in going to that church. It’s not like Orthodox or Lutheran. But when I saw you there and the other professor I felt okay and I thought if they come here it must be okay and I was able to relax a little and listen to the lecture (she meant sermon).”

And I knew then why David and Cathy and I had to be at that service. And I knew then why Daryl and I had to be at that university.

Students around the world are seeking answers and searching for truth. There is only one Truth that can satisfy the longing of the human soul—His name is Jesus and I have the privilege and honor and joy of sharing His love and His hope with students in Lithuania. Please pray for us and please pray for them. In absolute and inexplicable peace.

Anyone remember that old Amy Grant song from the ‘80s? “Angels watchin’ over me every step I taaaakkee. Angels watchin’ over me every move I maaaake.”

When you speak of angels, folks can get a bit edgy. Either your too New Agey or a freaky charismatic to most people. Billy Graham did a lot for the subject when he wrote about angels a few years back. Anyone read his book? Angels: God’s Secret Agents (1994). Secret agents—I just got a vision of 007 with wings. But I divert…

Fresh out of college I headed to the US Center for World Mission (USCWM) in Pasadena, California, to get a hold of some missionary training so I could go to China. I wasn’t going to be able to go back home to Kansas before I left for China, so when I packed for California, I packed for overseas too. In other words—I had a whole lotta stuff! Too much stuff. Way too much. But I was young and inexperienced and extremely ignorant. I’m so thrilled that God isn’t looking for the brightest or the best or the smartest or the most talented or people that have it all together! If He did look for that I’d never qualify. Fortunately, for me, God is basically looking for willing hearts and that I had.

For the flight to California I put on my best wool, navy blue Pendleton jumper. A long sleeve oxford cloth shirt and a lovely stylish bow tie (hey, it was the 80s). I packed four suitcases (yes, this was before luggage restrictions). They were those graduating sizes of luggage; the sets everyone gets for, well, for graduation. I had those soft-sided pieces packed to the brim. At the Wichita airport my Mom and friends from church came to see me off. Everyone was excited. Their little missionary was heading off and good supportive people were there to say farewell.

Just before I got on the plane my friend Kathy ran up to me and gave me an envelope. “Don’t read it until you’re in the air! Promise.” I did and headed down the jet way.

Once on the plane I got to visiting with the lady sitting next to me and I forgot to open the envelope which I had stashed in my super large purse. Four hours in the air and the woman from Russell, Kansas, and I talked non-stop. Hard to imagine I know!

Our flight into Denver was delayed and we didn’t arrive into LAX until way after midnight. My little bus from the USCWM was not there to meet me as planned. So, when I got to LA I phoned the folks at the USCWM and they explained to me that because it was so late I would need to take the public bus from LAX out to Pasadena. “Where do I get the bus?” I asked.

“Ask someone there. You speak English don’t you?” the voice on the other end of the line kindly replied.

I hung up the receiver and realized that with four pieces of luggage (all in graduating sizes), a large handbag and dressed in wool in warm southern California, I wasn’t going to get anywhere fast.

Finally I found a luggage cart, loaded my junk on it and roamed around the airport looking for someone to give me information. At last…I found a place to buy a ticket to Pasadena and even found a guy to help me get my stuff over to the bus stop. Time? 12:45 AM. Departure for the bus? 1:45 AM. I had to give up the cart, so I unloaded my luggage, stood among the graduating pieces and wiped the sweat from my brow. Then I began to look around.

Airports in 1983 were a lot different than they are nowadays. There wasn’t the security we see now. In fact, airports were sometimes a good place for transients to hang out. Suddenly I was very aware of my defenselessness. Gangs of men were in pockets here and there. Languages I could not understand nor could I recognize were whistling past my head. There was noise and arguments and commotion and confusion all around me and it was then that fear seized my heart. We didn’t have cell phones back then. My Mom had no idea where I was. No one was looking for me. I was a big dumb girl from Kansas dressed in wool and loaded down with too many suitcases. I was for all intents and purposes vulnerable. Very vulnerable.

So I prayed, “Jesus, I’m afraid. I’m afraid of those guys over there and that man there and those people right here and I have all of this stuff and I am very, very afraid.” Tears came to my eyes and I choked back a sob. It had been a very emotional week with good-byes and changes and selling my stuff and knowing that my future was going to look very different from anything I had ever known before. I closed my eyes as tears rushed down my face and I breathed a prayer of desperation, “Jesus, please help me.”

When I opened my eyes there were about seven or eight huge, gigantic angels surrounding me and my luggage. They were enormous. Shaped like you and me, most of them looked like guy angels, they were in white robes with belts and big old wings. Never had I seen an angel before, but apparently they look a lot like myths and narratives say. Now, that’s amazing in and of itself—the angels I mean. But here is the kicker…they were resting. They were not on guard or with their swords drawn. In fact, one was sitting on the biggest suitcase leaning on his sheathed sword looking kind of bored. The others were just hangin’ around not alarmed, not ready for action and the thought came to me, “If they’re not panicking why am I?” I mean if anyone should know if I was in danger it would be them, right? But they were at rest and not worried for me and so I felt assured that I was safe and needed not to be afraid.

Soon the intra-city bus came and I loaded on with all my stuff. Once on the air-conditioned bus I could sit back and cool off a bit. Suddenly I remembered the letter Kathy had given me at the airport and I dug around in my big bag looking for it. I found it, opened it and she had written only one thing, “There shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling. For He shall give His angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways” (Psalm 91).

And that’s exactly what He’d done. His angels were encamped about me and there was no need to be afraid. And so Lindsay at camp that’s what happened! I just figured that if those big old angels were relaxed that I should be too! And I need to tell you girl they were beautiful in a way I don’t even know how to describe. And that’s the whole story! Peace.

I hate war. I know! I just did a blog on not saying hate, but I do HATE war. (See my post “The War Less Traveled” October 14 and 15, 2008). I mean who doesn’t? Right? Warmongers—I guess they don’t hate war.

Afghanistan. When I was there in 2003 I felt that the US had done the right thing to free the Afghan people from the Taliban. But it got weird. It got messy. There was hope in the hearts and minds of the Afghan people in 2003, but in 2006 not so much. The conditions had really deteriorated in three years and I knew then that the US hadn’t hit hard enough, fast enough and thoroughly enough. Conditions in 2006 were dangerous and most of the people I met didn’t hold out any hope at all— not for their personal futures, or for the future of their country. I love Afghanistan so this harsh reality hit hard.

On June 17th I flew from my comfy little home in Lenexa, Kansas, and headed to Lithuania. My layover was in Atlanta, Georgia. The good old Atlanta airport ain’t the worst place in the world to have a layover. It’s fairly clean as airports go and there’s a lot to do, see and there’s food. I was just there twice last month on layovers.

But on Thursday, June 17th, things were different. Everywhere I looked in every terminal I went to there were US soldiers in desert camouflage. Tall soldiers; short soldiers; medium sized soldiers. Young and not so young; male and female; black, white, Hispanic and Asian. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them. As I waited for my plane to board I sat in Terminal E and forced myself to look at each and every soldier’s face that passed me by. They were on phones, they were drinking coffee, some bought neck pillows at the airport travel store for their journey ahead. Still others were on pay phones against a far wall or listening to IPods resting in the uncomfortable airport chairs.

Most were in groups or clusters of three, but the older ones, officers I assume, were most often alone. All had backpacks and military boots and patches revealing some mysterious military code telling who they belonged to, what they did, symbols of their vocation.

One beautiful young man sat across from me in the waiting area at gate E16. He pulled out his cell phone for one last call, one last good-bye. I tried not to listen and I wanted to give him his privacy so I turned to the side and pretended to read.

“I’ll be home Thanksgiving honey. Don’t worry. Everything is gonna be fine. We’ll do something fun when I get back and this is my last tour so things will finally get back to normal.”

I wish you could’ve seen this guy. He was extremely handsome, so young, and bright and shiny. He had a very clear, or clean, look about him. He said his final goodbyes to his sweetheart and closed the phone.

He sat there for a moment rubbing his eyes. Quiet.

Finally I leaned forward and I asked, “Where are you heading?”

“Afghanistan,” he replied, “for the fourth time. This is my last tour.”

“What part of Afghanistan?” I asked.

“Kandahar,” he replied. And my heart sank. If Afghanistan was a hurricane, Kandahar would be the eye of the storm. “I was in Kabul last time, but this time they’re sending me to Kandahar.”

“I’ve been there,” I said.

“Really? To Afghanistan? Did you serve?”

“No. I was with a UNESCO project in 2003 and then again in 2006.”

“Me? 2003. 2004. 2006 and now this time. It’s gotten worse, didn’t you think so? In 2006?”

“Yes,” I said. “I do think it was worse.”

He told me how discouraged the troops are. He said they feel they are fighting a war that is not to be won. He told me how the Afghans are fearful and just looking for whoever will feed them. The government over there is corrupt. The folks back home have lost hope and now the public doesn’t support this nightmare of a war.

“We’re fighting a very unpopular war and dying for something no one really cares about anymore,” he said. “The Afghans hate us, the Taliban is out to destroy us, the Afghan government is looking for anyone that will give them a handout and we’re stuck in the middle risking our lives for a war that everyone knows we can’t win.” The words stung. The truth sometimes does that.

His eyes were filled with pain. He teared up. I teared up. We sat there for a moment and I just looked at him wishing I had the right thing to say. So I asked something no one should ever ask a soldier, “How do you feel about going back?”

“Not so good,” he said.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Jim. Jim Cook,” he said.

“Jim I want you to know how very proud I am of you and how grateful I am, we all are, for what you are doing. I know it’s tough. I’ve only seen a little, but it’s tough. Jim Cook I will pray for you every single day. I promise,” I choked hard on the lump in my throat.

“Thank you. I believe in prayer.” And he gathered up his gear. I stood in reverence for him and we shook hands. I held his hand in mine a little longer that what’s usually comfortable, but I wanted him to know I meant it and that I saw him. That I really saw him.

Later in the ladies’ room I was washing my hands next to a young, small, blond soldier who may have been 100 pounds with her gear on. “Where are you going?” I asked her.

“I’m going to Afghanistan,” she smiled. I laid my hand on her narrow shoulder and patted her. She couldn’t have been over 20 years old.

My heart breaks to see our boys and girls go off to fight a war that even they don’t believe is winnable. They leave behind moms and dads and sisters and brothers; spouses and children and friends—loved ones. They leave behind jobs and homes and cars and comforts. They sacrifice their lives and the ones that survive have seen things none of us can even imagine.

Know a soldier? Pray for him or her today. Pray mightily and earnestly for his or her safety and protection and pray in Jesus’ name that they might come home and that there will be an end to this war. Don’t know anyone personally who is serving? Help me pray for Jim Cook. My prayer is that this Thanksgiving will be the best in his life, for both him and his sweetheart. Peace.

Words. Can’t live with ‘em; can’t live without ‘em. Okay. I guess that’s not entirely true. We can live with ‘em…some of them. Not all of them. I’m thinking a lot about words right now ‘cause I’m preparing to teach a class on linguistic theory and well, there’s a whole lotta stuff about words in linguistic theory. Smile. Chuckle. (I crack myself up).

The tongue. Can’t live with it. Can’t live without it. I think you know where I’m going with this. All this linguistics stuff I’m grappling with says that language comes from two sources: language of the brain and language of the mind. But can there also be a language of the heart?

The Bible says that the eyes are the window to the soul (Matthew 6:22, The Message). If that’s true, then I believe the tongue is the window to the heart. “The heart is deceitful above all things…Who can understand it?” (Jeremiah 17:9). Understand it? No. See its ugliness? Yes. That’s where the tongue comes in: For whatever is in your heart determines what you say (Matthew 12:34, NLT). Maaaan. I wish that verse wasn’t in the Bible.

Words are a lot like toothpaste. Once they are out of the old tube, it’s impossible to get them back in there again. Unfortunately, words do a lot more harm than unused toothpaste! My words have bruised people, cut them, and even occasionally, I’ve knocked someone off their feet with my ugly, mean-spirited words. Words.

When I was a kid we had certain words that were banned in our house. For example, any derivative of the name of God: gosh, golly, gee, gee whiz, dad gummit (bad meaning; look it up). We also were not allowed to use derivatives for damn: darn, dang, dad blast it. But an even more important rule in our house was we were never allowed to say “I hate you,” “I hate your guts,” “I wish you were dead.”

My Mom’s philosophy behind banning all hate words was the death of my sister Denise. Whether this was good or bad parenting by today’s standard, I don’t know. My Mom’s scolding of us, if we used these words, was always the same, “Do you want that to be the last thing she heard?” “Do ya want that to be the last thing he remembers you saying?” And then it’d come, “What if you died tonight? What if he died tonight? Is that the last thing you want to have said? Really?”

No. It never was.

And so words, certain words, were banned from my Mother’s house. I remember the first time I said I hate you to someone. I was in my 30s and it felt sooooooo good. It shouldn’t have. I knew it was wrong, but somehow once I unleashed those words they got easier and easier to say. Say ‘em once; you say ‘em a hundred times. I just couldn’t stop myself after that.

Even now I find myself saying it about TV characters, or the mole in our back yard, or some weirdo driver on the road. Yes. We are to hate what is evil, but I think when I let the words “I hate…..” spew out of my mouth (and spew is the right verb here) then a piece of my heart comes flying out with it and it reveals to me (and others) what is really in there.

I think about Betsy ten Boom, Corrie’s sister. While they were in the concentration camp during WW II a cruel German woman guard beat Betsy and Corrie hated that woman. She hated her! While Betsy was recovering in the bunk, her body stricken with pain and bruised beyond recognition, she whispered to Corrie, “Don’t hate. Don’t hate Corrie. It’s never right to hate.”

It’s never right to hate. And it’s never right to say it. Never. Once we get in the habit of saying it about spinach, or broccoli, or snakes, or people we don’t know, then it becomes much easier to say it in arguments, and stressful situations and in times when we’re hurting. I say leave it off the vocabulary list altogether so that it doesn’t slip out of our mouths unexpectedly.

Words. I mean Jesus told us not to call people fools. Really Jesus? I can’t say “He’s an idiot?” But what if he really is an idiot? “…anyone who says, ‘You fool!’ will be in danger of the fire of hell.” Wow. That’s pretty serious stuff.

Why? Because you can’t call someone a fool and say those words in love. And anything we do outside of a love motivation is sin. Words and deeds must be focused and based in love—Jesus-kind-of-love. Love that is centered in God, in Jesus, in others, on our enemies. Jesus could call people fools because He operated in perfect love. We don’t. (Okay, Gandalf meant it in love when he said, “Flee you fools.” But that’s different).

And don’t get all semantic on me (Oh my! The linguistics stuff is really paying off). What if I call someone’s acts “foolish?” “Hey man, that was a foolish thing to do.” Well, I think that’s okay. But again our words are supposed to be coming from love.

Now in closing (everyone sighs a big relief) let me say a few “words” about that irritating chapter in James. Or better yet, I’ll just let it speak for itself.

James 3: 2-13 (Amplified)

2 For we all often stumble and fall and offend in many things. And if anyone does not offend in speech [never says the wrong things], s/he is a fully developed character and a perfect person, able to control the whole body and to curb his/her entire nature.

3 If we set bits in the horses’ mouths to make them obey us, we can turn their whole bodies about.

4 Likewise, look at the ships: though they are so great and are driven by rough winds, they are steered by a very small rudder wherever the impulse of the helmsman determines.

5 Even so the tongue is a little member, and it can boast of great things. See how great a forest a tiny spark can set ablaze!

6 And the tongue is a fire. [The tongue is a] world of wickedness set among our members, contaminating and depraving the whole body….

7 For every kind of beast and bird, of reptile and sea animal, can be tamed and has been tamed by human genius.

8 But the human tongue can be tamed by no one. It is a restless (undisciplined, irreconcilable) evil, full of deadly poison.

9 With it we bless the Lord and Father, and with it we curse people who were made in God’s likeness!

10 Out of the same mouth come blessing and cursing. These things, my brothers and sisters, ought not to be so.

11 Does a fountain send forth [simultaneously] from the same opening fresh water and bitter?

12 Can a fig tree bear olives, or a grapevine figs? Neither can a salt spring furnish fresh water.

13 Who is there among you who is wise and intelligent? Then let this person by noble living show forth [good] works with the [unobtrusive] humility [which is the proper attribute] of true wisdom.

So I passionately pray, “Set a guard over my mouth O Lord and may the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in Your sight,” (Psalm 141:3; Psalm 19:4). Peace.

Psalm 23
A Psalm of David.
“THE LORD is my Shepherd [to feed, guide, and shield me], I will not lack.

He makes me lie down in [fresh, tender] green pastures; He leads me beside the still and restful waters.

He refreshes and restores my life (my very self); He leads me in the paths of righteousness [uprightness and right standing with Him—not for my earning it, but] for His name’s sake.

Yes, though I walk through the [deep, sunless] valley of the shadow of death, I will fear or dread no evil, for You are with me; Your rod [to protect] and Your staff [to guide], they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my [brimming] cup runs over.

Surely (or only) goodness, mercy, and unfailing love will follow me all the days of my life, and through the length of my days the House of the Lord [and His presence] will be my dwelling place.”
I’ve been fearful a lot lately. Fearful of snakes (been seeing them around the park and even in our neighborhood). Fearful of the future. Fearful of NO future. Fearful for Daryl’s health (he’s stressed to the max with work and other things). Fearful for our country, the environment, healthcare issues, and as always, The Church.

I woke up the other night in an almost panic! I felt like electricity was running through my arms and legs and my heart was racing. I was fearful. Fearful of close friends dying who are battling diseases. Fearful of broken relationships that continue to ooze and give pain and don’t get fixed. Fearful of rejection. And the worst of all my fears…fear of dying alone with some form of dementia. (For some of you who know me well you don’t struggle understanding that fear!)

I got up and went into my small office down the hall. I knelt down and I prayed, “Lord I am so afraid. I am now feeling guilty for feeling afraid. I’m now feeling fearful that you are angry at me for feeling fearful. Lord, are you mad at me for feeling fearful?” And then I whispered, “Please help me Jesus. I can’t wear the weight of this. It’s robbing me of my joy, but most importantly, it’s robbing me of my peace. Please help me.”

I looked up from my kneeling position and a book caught my eye on the shelf next to the chair. It was a book I hadn’t read in years, “Daily Light from the Bible.” It’s an old book; it’s little and I’m pretty sure it’s out of print. I’ve had it for more than 20 years. I picked it up, and read the segment for that day, “I am the Good Shepherd, and know My sheep and am known of Mine. My sheep hear My voice and I know them and they follow Me: and I give to them eternal life; and they will never perish, neither can any man pluck them out of My hand.” Then the reading continued…

“The Lord is My Shepherd; I will not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures: He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul; He leads me in the paths of righteousness for His Name’s sake.

“All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned everyone to his own way but the Lord laid on Him the iniquity of us all.—I am the Good Shepherd; the Good Shepherd gives His life for the sheep.—I will seek that which was lost, and bring again that which was driven away, and will bind up that which was broken, and will strengthen that which was sick. –You were once as sheep going astray; but now you are returned to the Shepherd and to the Keeper of your souls.”

Whew. Little fragments of peace started entering into my heart and I was beginning to breathe more freely, but what about the future? What about our world, our country, the Church? So I continued reading. The very next passage…

“The city had no need of the sun, neither of the moon to shine in it: for the glory of God did lighten it and the Lamb is the light thereof. The sun will be no more your light by day; neither for brightness will the moon give light to you; but the Lord will be to you an everlasting light and your God will be your glory. The Lord is good, a strong hold in the day of trouble; and He knows them that trust in Him. I would have you without carefulness. He cares for you. Be careful for nothing, but in everything with prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be make known unto God and the peace of God that surpasses all understanding will keep your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

Okay. A little lighter. A little more air. A little more breathing room. Not a flooding peace, but enough to ease the burden. I decided to go back to bed. I finished praying for those who are literally fighting for their lives and placed all the worries and cares I had brought into that room at the feet of Jesus (I used my imagination and pretended He was sitting in the chair and then I placed the worry and junk at His feet) and went to bed.

Sunday, our pastor preached on the Kingdom. He had us as a congregation read aloud, “The city had no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it: for the glory of God did lighten it and the Lamb is the light thereof. The sun shall be no more thy light by day’ neither for brightness shall the moon give light unto thee; but the Lord shall be unto thee an everlasting light and thy God thy glory.” Coincidence? I don’t think so. The Scriptures meant a lot to me and reading them there on Sunday made me think that God was letting me know He was listening and attentive—engaged.

Jesus said in the Gospel of Luke that people’s hearts can actually fail them because of fear (Luke 21). I don’t want to be like that. I don’t want to be one of those people. But I can’t live above the fear and anxiety on my own strength. I have to call on God my Father and ask for the Holy Spirit’s indwelling. I have to bathe in the Word of God and let His Word wash over me and cleanse me from fear and anxiety and fretfulness. I have to call on Jesus, the Author and Finisher of my faith and to say, “You oh Lord are my strong tower and my ever present help in time of need.” I have to follow Paul’s counsel to cast down every high imagination and every crazy thought that tries to eclipse and overtake what I know is true. I must bring every thought into captivity and declare with my mouth, with my heart and with my mind, “My God reigns and He is trustworthy and dependable. I am not moved by what I see or what I feel, but I stand on this truth: God is love and He loves me and He will perfect the things concerning me. Amen. So be it. It’s decided. Peace.

I hate it when things break! Especially stuff I can’t fix! After my Grandma died my Mom gave me a box of her things. I went through it and found a lovely delicate bud vase—clear crystal with little vine etchings. Really nice and it was special to me. It was important because it came from my Grandma, but also because of its age and beauty. I decided to use it one day against my better judgment and I put a perfect yellow rose bud in it. I’d look at it throughout the day and admired the rose, the vase and then thought fondly of my Grandma. The thing must have been at least eighty years old, if not older.

One night Big D was helping me fix dinner and when he reached over to turn the water off I heard the crash. I didn’t even need to look around; I knew what it was. I heard the shattering of glass and the sick sound of water dripping off the cabinet. I hate it when things break! Especially irreparable, irreplaceable things. Daryl felt badly. But I still haven’t gotten over it. Isn’t that one of the symptoms of OCD?

We have a lamp upstairs that broke recently. That lamp is 15 years old! I should just give up on it and go buy a new one, but I’m trying to fix it. I can’t get all the parts to cooperate however. Maybe it’s fixable, but just not by me.

And as much as I hate when stuff breaks, nothing is worse than broken relationships. Those are the worst breaks of all. There’s a gnawing that comes along with broken relationships; a kind of rawness that never quite goes away. It’s a tear in the fabric of who we are, so it doesn’t usually mend nicely. It makes me think of that old Jimmy Ruffin song, “What Becomes of the Brokenhearted?”

“The fruits of love grow all around. But for me they come a tumblin’ down. Every day heartaches grow a little stronger; I can’t stand this pain much longer.

“I walk in shadows searching for light; cold and alone, no comfort in sight. Hoping and praying for someone to care. Always moving and goin’ nowhere.”

“What becomes of the brokenhearted who had love that’s now departed? I know I’ve got to find some kind of peace of mind. Maybe.”

Ooow. Brokenhearted. Funny term and yet so clear a description. That’s how it feels, isn’t it? Like your heart is broken and sometimes you can’t even breathe…or worse…each breath hurts.

Relationships are tough. They can be the greatest source of joy as well as the greatest source of sorrow. I’ve seen parents whose child’s life choices have broken their hearts. I’ve seen spouses whose hearts were shattered because of an unfaithful partner that said, “I love this person more than you.” I’ve seen kids who were brokenhearted because their love for a parent was cast aside for wrong priorities like careers, success, money or just plain disinterest. So what does become of the brokenhearted?

How do we heal when it seems all hope is lost and the breach in relationships has gone beyond repair? Perhaps we’ll never heal completely, but the pain just gets a little less each day, not so intense. I don’t know, does it ever really go away? Then I think of Jesus…and what he said in Luke chapter four. The story goes like this:

“And Jesus returned in the power of the Spirit to Galilee (he had just come from being tempted in the desert): and there his fame went out through all the region round about. And he taught in their synagogues, and was praised by everyone for his knowledge and ability. (Popular and liked).

“And he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up: and, as his custom was, he went into the synagogue on the Sabbath day, and stood up to read. The book of Isaiah was handed to him. He opened the book, found the place where this was written and read,

“‘The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor; he has sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set free those that are bruised, and to preach the acceptable year of the Lord.’

“He closed the book, and he gave it back to the minister, and sat down. The eyes of all them that were in the synagogue were fastened on him. He began to say to them, ‘This day this Scripture is fulfilled right in front of your very eyes.’ And all bore him witness, and wondered at the gracious words which proceeded out of his mouth.” (Still popular and liked).

But then, fickle as human beings are, the crowd turned against him and relationships began to break. In fact, the very crowd that had heard him read in the synagogue that day decided he wasn’t all that great and tried to kill him BY PUSHING HIM OFF A CLIFF!

Jesus said, “A prophet isn’t accepted in his own hometown.”

One minute they are diggin’ him and the next minute they’re wantin’ to kill him.

If anyone knows the complicated and fragile nature of human relationships, Jesus DOES! But he doesn’t just understand, he actually came to this earth to help us deal with difficulties, like say, a broken heart.

What becomes of the brokenhearted? How do we heal a broken heart?

Psalms 34:18 “The LORD is close to the brokenhearted; he rescues those whose spirits are crushed.”

Psalms 147:3, “He heals the brokenhearted and bandages their wounds.”

Poor Jimmy Ruffin, his song goes on to say, “I’ll be searching everywhere just to find someone to care. I’ll be looking every day; I know I’m gonna find a way. Nothings gonna stop me now. I’ll find a way somehow. I’ll be searching everywhere.” But truth is very seldom found in a pop song. We don’t have to search everywhere to find someone to care.

Jesus came to bind up the brokenhearted. He came to put bandages on our wounds and to free us from the long-term effects of bruising. And because he suffered in human relationships, he knows how to minister to us and to help us with the healing process. He’s how we deal with a broken heart. He’s able to heal the brokenhearted and it’s part of the reason he came. Peace.

“I love Russia! I mean I really love everything about Russia! The food, the people, the literature—EVERYTHING!”

I was my usual melodramatic self speaking through clenched teeth to an American teacher in China telling her just how much I wanted to live and work in Russia.

It was an insignificant chat with my new friend Melody. Melody was teaching in the northeast city of Changchun where I had first taught nearly five years earlier. I’d come back just for the summer and I was teaching a conversational English course for the university’s English faculty. Melody had come to China for a year to teach with a Christian organization. We met on campus my first day back and were thrilled to find fellow followers of Jesus. I was leaving at the end of the summer, but Melody had decided to stay an additional year. We parted promising to stay in touch, but never actually doing it.

I felt called to Russia, but every long-term door I had tried just wouldn’t open. Finally, I realized that in order to live and work in Russia, specifically Moscow, I would need a master’s degree. I enrolled at the University of Oklahoma, but the cost was prohibitive. I did one semester of grad school there and had to drop out. I couldn’t work full time, go to school full time and make ends meet. I gave up and decided to open a small language school near Wichita’s air force base to help military wives from other countries learn English. I opened my own little school. It did really well and thanks to the help of my sister and brother-in-law I was well-equipped with a nice used copy machine, a professional-style office phone, and an electronic typewriter—a precursor to today’s laptop. Fun times!

I got home late one night from teaching and I had a message on my machine. It was a recruiter for Oral Roberts University. She said she had an offer for me that I couldn’t refuse. I called her back just to see what was going on. I had no idea how the school could’ve gotten my number. I wasn’t a big fan of ORU to tell you the truth. In fact, I was a little bit afraid of it. But I called her back.

It seemed that someone had given this recruiter my name in response to ORU’s launching of a new scholarship in the name of Evelyn Roberts (Oral’s wife). The scholarship was very specific: a woman, 30 years old or older, an owner of a small business and it was for graduate degrees only. The recruiter asked if I’d like to apply. I did. I got it. I closed up the small language school and headed to Tulsa. And I loved my time at ORU. God blessed me there and I learned so much and met so many wonderful people. Because of my semester at OU and my teaching experience overseas, I was able to finish my master’s degree in two semesters going fulltime and carrying heavy loads.

Now, the only reason I wanted to go for that master’s was to qualify for a teaching position in Moscow. That was my only reason. I have never been a person who loved school. Every degree I have has been hard earned and I had to work like crazy to keep up. I’ve never been a good student.

Fearful that I might drop out or that I might get distracted at ORU I made a decision. The first thing I did when I moved into my little campus apartment in Tulsa was buy a long piece of butcher paper. Then with big old Magic Markers, I wrote in all capital letters, “MOSCOW FALL 1991!” and taped that banner to my bedroom wall. It was a lot like Jacob putting markers at the watering holes of the goats. Spotted markers resulted in spotted lambs and his flocks grew (Genesis 30). I thought if I could read those words the first thing every morning when I got up and the last thing I saw every night when I went to bed I wouldn’t lose my calling no matter what tried to waylay me along the journey. And there it was in living color—my goal, my dream, my marching orders.

The scholarship provided me with free tuition, housing and I taught a couple of classes in the communications department which provided me with a nice stipend. Looking back on it, it was really a wonderful time in my life. Finally though, March was upon us and it was time to start planning for my future. Universities, for the most part, start looking for faculty by the end of March or early April. I wanted to get applications in for jobs in Moscow as quickly as possible. I sent random letters to schools all over the city. It was the USSR back then and communication wasn’t easy. Phones didn’t work well. Mail wasn’t always delivered and any communication from the outside world was looked on with great suspicion. I called USSR embassies, consulates, and even followed leads from things I read in the newspapers. All without any success.

A student of mine gave me a copy of InterVarsity’s missions magazine. I think it came out quarterly back then. Anyway, at the back of the magazine was an ad for the International Institute for Christian Studies (IICS) which was trying to recruit professors to go to Russia to teach. I called immediately and was turned down by the organization’s director Dr. Daryl McCarthy (Yes! That one.) because I didn’t have a PhD and they only appointed PhDs. But he prayed for me and unlike a lot of missions agency directors, he didn’t put me down. He said it was a good goal and a valid dream and he wished me the best.

Door after door after door closed. The chair of the journalism department at ORU called me in his office and offered me a fulltime job teaching in his department upon my graduation. Good salary and they’d even allow me to keep my rent-free apartment near campus. It was a great deal and a great opportunity. But it didn’t feel right.

Discouraged and a little panicky I ran home and fell on my bed crying. “Lord Jesus! Lord Jesus! I thought we agreed I was to be in Moscow fall of 1991. What’s happening here? I have no connections. I have heard from no one. Not one single response to my letters. Where are You in all of this?”

Anyone else like this? Do you ever start feeling like maybe you’ve done something wrong? That it’s your fault things aren’t falling into place? I immediately started asking God for forgiveness. “Is it me? Are you angry with me? Have I done something to quench Your spirit?”

It was a terrible time of fear, regret, confusion and a loss of hope. Could I work in the US? Sure. My master’s degree in education would open doors for me in the US! I had a job offer from ORU and I wouldn’t even have to move. But I didn’t want to be in the US! I wanted to be in the USSR! I wanted to teach in Moscow.

Spring break came and I decided not to go home and see my parents. I decided instead to clean the apartment. Then I cleaned my car. Then I worked on papers that were due by the end of the semester. I did a lot of crying and the last weekend of spring break—Friday, Saturday and Sunday—I decided to fast. I bought some juice, turned off the phone, turned off the TV, played some praise and worship music on the old tape player and I lay face down and cried out to God. “Please make a way for this; please direct me. I need You to open these doors. I need to know that You really want me to go to Moscow. Help me, please.”

Friday. Saturday. Sunday. Nothing. Finally around sundown on Sunday evening I decided to turn the phone back on, eat something and watch some TV. I felt the whole fasting thing had been very unproductive. Around 8 o’clock on Sunday night I got a phone call. It was from my ORU professor. She said there was a girl I met in China a few years ago trying to get a hold of me. Would I call this girl? She said it’s important. I took down the number and called her.

It was Melody. You know, the girl I had an insignificant conversation with one summer in Changchun where I told her “I love Russia!” It had been three years since that conversation and Melody and I hadn’t had contact after that. She was living in Virgina going to law school. She explained why she wanted to talk to me.

That fall in Changchun, after I left, a Russian professor had come to teach on Melody’s campus. They’d become good friends and Melody had even given him a Bible.

His wife was an English instructor at the Moscow Textile Institute and the school had just been awarded permission to host its first English-language professor from another country—preferably the West. Alexander, Melody’s friend, had written her a letter asking her if she would come and teach English at his wife’s institute. He had included his telephone number and some of the conditions of the contract. “If you cannot take this position Melody, we would appreciate your help in finding someone we can trust who would be willing to come and teach here and do a good job.” Melody said as soon as she read the letter, she thought of me. But because we hadn’t stayed in touch, she didn’t know how to reach me. So she called a friend of hers who was in the master’s program at ORU and asked if she knew of anyone who might want this job.

And her friend, a classmate of mine, shouted, “Teri Hodges!”

Melody screamed, “Teri Hodges? That’s who I thought of too but I don’t know how to reach her.”

“She lives right here in campus housing!”

So, Melody’s friend called my prof; my prof called me; I called Melody and by 9:30 that night I was telephoning, for the first time in my life, the USSR. Now, for most of us living in the US or free nations, making a simple phone call is well, definitely not miraculous. But trying to place a call to the Soviet Union back in the early ‘90s, well that was a lot more complicated. So you’ve gotta bear with me here when I say, I picked up the phone in my little apartment in Tulsa, Oklahoma, dialed some digits and the phone rang in Moscow and was answered by…Alexander! Uh back in the day, that was pretty amazing.

“Hello Alexander?” I asked.

“Yes.” He replied hesitantly, a little suspiciously.

“My name is Teri Hodges and I’m a good friend of Melody Cockrell’s. She told me your wife’s school is looking for an English instructor for the fall. I am very interested in that position.”

Alexander could not believe I was calling from America. When I finally convinced him it wasn’t a joke he settled down and started asking me a few questions. Alexander said to me “Melody I know and trust. I can recommend her without hesitation. But I am sorry. I don’t know you and a bad recommendation could be a problem for…well…for me and my wife. You understand of course.” And I did.

Neither of them could take that risk. But they were trying to help find someone from the West to come and teach. Could I come for a visit and meet the rector and the department chair? Housing could be arranged for me if I could take care of the airfare. Yes! I said with utmost confidence. I can come in May for an interview.

I hung up the phone trembling. I called Pan American Airlines which was going out of business due to bankruptcy. They were offering flights anywhere in the world roundtrip for $300. They were the only American owned airlines that flew into Moscow back then. I called them at nearly midnight and the operator told me that the $300 offer was ending at midnight. I bought the ticket. By faith. I didn’t have $300, but I had my Dad’s credit card and figured I could get the money by the time the bill came in. I called my Dad the next morning and told him what I had done. I said, “I promise Dad by the time the bill comes to your house you’ll have $300 from me!”

I made one more phone call letting Melody know my plans. We had prayer and I thanked her again and again for thinking of me. “It was the Holy Spirit actually. I think this was meant to be,” she said.

The next morning I went in to fix coffee and in the middle of my living room floor was a plain white envelope with a tire track mark across it. I couldn’t figure out why a piece of trash like this was on my living room floor. I hadn’t opened the door; the weather sealing under the door was tight and I had no roommate or any one sharing my apartment. I opened the dirty envelope just to see what was inside and it was three one hundred dollar bills. Unbelievable? Yup! I know. I write these words and I still struggle to believe them. But it happened! And I about fainted.

I graduated. I headed off to Moscow in May. I got the job. I have a whole lot more story here to tell, but the bottom line is this: God worked through all of these circumstances and I was teaching in Moscow by Fall of 1991!

A few years ago I was at an IICS dinner here in Kansas City talking with friends and meeting new people. The dinner is an annual event and Daryl always encourages IICS supporters to bring friends and family to learn about the work and the ministry. A girlfriend of mine asked if I’d come to her table and meet a longtime friend of hers. Her guest was the assistant DA for Kansas City, Missouri. I shook the friend’s hand and we stood there for a moment…

“Melody?”

“Teri?”

Hugs and tears and laughter and utter disbelief.

“Hey, did you ever make it to Moscow that year?” she asked.

“Did I ever!” I whispered. And the stories began.

God is good. He is faithful. He is powerful and capable and He wants to do big things in each of our lives. He wants to bring about those supernatural miracles for all of His kids. He wants to intervene. He desires to participate with us in living and working and in our very being. But we sometimes have a part to play in all of that. Sometimes we have to stick a spotted pole in the mud and hold on to what He has promised us. Sometimes we have to put butcher paper on our bedroom walls to help us not be distracted or dissuaded. It’s a tempering I think. It’s a purification perhaps. It is a way that He uses to ignite the fire in our bellies. “God I want Your will for my life more than anything else!” And He will work in our lives and orchestrate events, even through seemingly insignificant conversations, to perfect and perform His will. Peace.