Russell Media - Laurie

I’ve always had a fascination with Russia. As a child, I remember sitting and watching the hockey game in the 1980 Winter Olympic games, USA versus the USSR. The Soviet players appeared so serious and void of emotion. “Why do they look so mean?” I asked my father.

He explained the Cold War to me in age appropriate terms. An “us and them” mentality began to grow in my young mind until my dad said something that broke this chain of thought. “You have to realize it’s not the people we are against, it’s their government. It is a group of people forcing evil ways on their country. We must pray for the people in the USSR, for God to help them.”

Fourteen years later I found myself preparing to live in part of the former Soviet Union. I was headed to southern Russia as a missionary. The Iron Curtain had fallen a few years prior. The world had experienced crazy change practically overnight. I couldn’t believe it - had God heard the prayers of my father and thousands and millions of others?

Russia was my first overseas experience and in many ways like a first love. There were many firsts – international flight, foreign language, Christmas away from home, etc. It was also my first time working in full-time ministry. So I prayed like crazy and learn from a lot of trial and error.

One of my teammates and I began working with World War II veterans. We initially met them via a humanitarian project and then offered to do a Bible study with those interested. The numbers were huge in the beginning as we gave an overview of the Bible. But, as we began to focus on Jesus the numbers dwindled to a solid 20. We didn’t want to scare them all away so we toned it down a bit.

These Babushkas and Dedushkas (grandmother/grandfather) were precious and eager to learn yet there was another hurdle we faced. They refused to receive God themselves. Continually we were told, “It’s too late for us. Our lives are near the end. We must learn this so we can teach our children and grandchildren so they can have God.”

We prayed and looked for ways to show them that God’s love and peace were for all but nothing worked. The study continued but our time with them was running out. In a matter of weeks we would be heading back to the States. We decided the following week to be more direct with them as a group and as individuals. We weren’t teaching a history lesson, we were showing them how to find eternal life – regardless of age.

However, I was nervous about this – even as a missionary it wasn’t natural for me. Up to this point my faith was always safe. I kept it to myself unless others asked or if it was part of my job and I was working with another. I didn’t want to offend anyone or be too pushy. I had always played it safe.

The night before our next Bible study we were hit with a late season snowstorm. The sidewalks were covered with ice and snow. Our vets were all elderly. They wore shoes without traction and walked to bus stops. I didn’t think they’d make it. Why had I stalled?

We arrived that morning at the location of our study. My teammate and I shared the same fear – that no one would make it to our study in the snow. As we climbed the stairs to our meeting room we heard voices. “Phew…some of them made it.”

When we walked into the room, it was full! Not just a few but practically all made the journey in the snow. On the verge of tears I shared my amazement of their presence. “Oh Laurichka, of course we came. We are strong. We want to hear your lesson.”

Their eagerness to learn gave us boldness. God’s Spirit gave us the words. That day was a tipping point. They began to open up and receive God’s love for themselves that day.

I figured this study was God’s way of giving those, who had been robbed of the opportunity to learn about Him for 70 plus years, one last chance to receive Him. But…they proved me wrong.

Weeks later we had a party for us to say our good-byes. We were heading back to the States. Every single Babushka and Dedushka showed up. As we sat talking one Babushka began telling us how each week she took our lessons to her daughter’s house and shared all we had taught them with her family. Her daughter and youngest granddaughter had prayed to receive God. However, her oldest granddaughter had been more stubborn. She continued, “But this week I went over again and shared this last lesson. She got on her knees and took God as her own.”

Another lady piped in. She was going to the homes of shut-ins. They wanted to be part of our meetings but due to stairs and lack of wheelchairs, couldn’t make it. She did the same and shared God’s message with them.

I couldn’t believe it. They were earnestly seeking a treasure, walking through snowstorms to get, and found it. But, they didn’t hoard it. They walked through snowstorms to share it – over and over again.

These precious people reminded me that I’ve been given and have received a treasure in Jesus Christ. I shouldn’t be embarrassed to wear it. It’s been given for me to share it with others. If I don’t, I’m selfishly preventing others from receiving their portion of the treasure and there’s more than enough to go around.

This is still a struggle for me. I’m one who doesn’t like to offend others. But maybe that’s part of the problem. I’ve allowed myself to think of the Gospel as offensive when in reality it’s healing water. It’s a treasure to be shared freely, backed with love.

My precious friends in Russia showed me that it’s not offensive when you know your audience, have a genuine love for them and trust the Holy Spirit to give you the words. You may meet resistance but God’s love is not offensive. It’s a jewel.

Any thoughts?

Do you have the same struggles or perhaps encouraging words to help those of us who do?

“Okay Laura, you live in Chile now. I will kiss you when you arrive and when you leave.”

Wow! I never expected to hear these words at a doctor’s appointment. What may have sounded like the beginnings of a lawsuit was actually my doctor sharing with me a part of his culture. We were living in Santiago, Chile and had just learned I was pregnant with our first child. We would be seeing a lot of this doctor and he was preparing his new American patient how he would be greeting me on each visit. Mark chuckled behind me as he watched me awkwardly kiss my doctor on the cheek.

I had read about this custom in books as we prepared for our move to Chile. Chileans greet each other with a kiss on the cheek and repeat it when they depart. Men would generally give each other a handshake or hug, depending on the relationship, but women always kissed everyone.

We were introduced to this custom immediately. We lived with a Chilean family our first two weeks. They were incredible and quickly became our adopted family. Each morning began with a kiss on the cheek and each “good bye” required another kiss.

It felt natural to do this with close friends and it quickly became second nature for me. However, the Chileans didn’t save this custom for just friends. In social settings they greeted everyone this way, friends and strangers alike.

One evening, we were hanging out with our Chilean family. Some of their friends dropped by unannounced. The room was crowded and we were sitting on the other side of the table. When our friends introduced us to the visitors they didn’t just nod at us and continue talking with our hosts. Nope – they moved furniture, squeezed behind people, worked their way over to us and greeted me with a kiss and Mark with a handshake and pat on the back.

I had never had anyone work so hard to meet me! It made me feel special, as if my presence mattered.

I thought, perhaps we received a special greeting because we were with their good friends. But this behavior continued – and not just with us. I watched teenagers do the same with each other as they greeted one another in the mall. Friends pushed through crowded buses to kiss and say hello to each other.

One time a friend passed me on the other side of the street. They quickly crossed through busy traffic in order to say hello and briefly catch up. I couldn’t believe the effort this person made in order to acknowledge my presence. It was nice.

Many times in life, I’ve been surrounded by people yet still felt alone – a conference or party where I didn’t know anyone else. It’s an uncomfortable feeling. People are deep into conversation and either don’t notice you or they’re too tired or uncomfortable themselves to make the effort and say “hello” to a stranger or even an acquaintance.

Paul mentioned numerous times to “greet one another with a holy kiss” (Rom. 16:16; 1 Cor. 16:20; 2 Cor. 13:12). I’ve always breezed past this verse. I don’t know why, maybe because it’s not part of our culture. But the verse is not about the kiss; it’s about the greeting. The Chileans modeled for me the importance of welcoming and the acknowledging one another. People have an innate desire to know they have been seen. From an early age, babies will work to make eye contact. This is how they first know love. It’s a horrible feeling to be ignored.

I’m shy by nature so this Chilean custom initially took me out of my comfort zone but it felt good when I was the recipient and therefore nudged me to give this back to others.

Now that I’m back in our own culture, there have been times where I allowed myself to hide in a crowd. Sometimes it’s just easier. But God created me to love and bless others and that takes effort. How can we love one another if we ignore one another? So go out, enjoy you day and greet one another with a holy kiss (or at least genuine greeting).

What are your thoughts on this?

Do you feel our culture is as skilled in greeting one another?

Have you experienced something similar in other cultures?

Life has been a bit stressful lately. I’ve had to put in some extra work hours due to an advancing deadline. To mentally get myself through it, I told myself last week that I’d take a real Sabbath on Sunday. No work, no email, no computer, nothing. Only rest and play with my family. However, Sunday wasn’t all that restful. I struggled with the desire to do a little work here and there. When I sat down to read, I felt guilty for not working on the project. When I walked past the dirty clothes I felt the urge to do a load. When I saw my computer, I wanted to work on my inbox. My body and heart wanted to relax but my mind kept interrupting my peace. My inability to take a day off to relax kind of, uh, stressed me out.

I finally gave in at the end of the night and allowed myself to do “leisure work” on the computer. It was when I read a comment left by Adam on my Loggerhead, Lights and Landmark post, I was reminded of a lesson we learned in Germany. Adam left some great insight regarding rest on my Conversant Life blog -  as well as a link to the article (http://fulleryouthinstitute.org/2010/05/in-season/). So, I figure this was God’s way of showing me where to begin my Culture Clash series. So Germany it is…

Mark and I lived in Munich, Germany for three years as missionaries and worked mainly with young professionals. It holds a special place in my heart because it is where I primarily learned how to be a mommy. Noah had just turned one and Anastasia was born six months after our arrival. I was away from family and friends and all the advice they could give me, so I watched the German women and copied them.

Before each train ride, the German moms bought fresh pretzels for their kids. So, I did the same each day as we boarded the train to language school. They walked their kids in strollers in all kinds of weather.  So I, ahem, tried to do the same (when it wasn’t too cold). They spent hours in parks and rode bikes everywhere. So, we bought a trailer for our bikes and did our best not wipe anyone out on our family bike rides. (Warning: it’s wise not to do this after a visit to the Bier Garten).

I really miss it – but it wasn’t always easy.

There is a system for most everything and most everyone follows it. Until we learned and followed the routines correctly, we had a good many people let us know “strongly” when we had messed up the system. Each day in language school we’d recite the incident to our language instructors and they’d laugh and fill us in on what we did wrong. Once we learned all of the rules, life became quite nice and orderly and we actually enjoyed the laws of the land. Well…there was one that took us a bit longer to get.

Germans work hard but they play hard too. We loved that about them. You never had to feel guilty about taking and enjoying your time off – you had earned it.

However, we lived in the Bavaria region. At this time, there were quiet hours during each weekday and on Sunday, the whole day was quiet hours and you were expected to be quiet. What?! We are loud Americans, how can we do that?

During these quiet hours no loud work was allowed that would be considered noise pollution – i.e. cutting grass, working on cars, vacuuming your sidewalk (just checking to see if you’re paying attention.) Almost every store was closed with the exception of the bread store for a few hours in the morning, gas stations and some restaurants.

At first the quiet hours drove me crazy. In the past, Sundays were my “catch-up” days. I used the “free-time” to prepare for the week ahead and get a jump-start on my “to-do” list. This put a huge kink in my system. (Unfortunately my German wasn’t good enough to let them strongly know it).

The first few weeks we suffered. I always forgot to get enough food to get us through the weekend (grocery stores closed at noon on Saturday) – so we had to eat out or went to a gas station to buy milk. But little by little I learned the system and before long we were pros.

Once I detoxed from my irritation I noticed something. Sundays were peaceful. I didn’t feel the need to run errands because there was nowhere to go. I didn’t feel guilty for not cutting grass or vacuuming because I wasn’t allowed to. It was quiet outside and it lured us out of the house and into parks and family strolls. The lack of noise was…calming. It was healing. We didn’t feel stressed. We felt…rested.

Not only was this good for my body and mind, it was good for my soul. I communed with God. The same way you can see your reflection better in still water, you can hear God’s voice when you body and mind are quiet.

God created us to work but He also knew we’d need rest and time to play.

Our German friends and family modeled this for us. When they worked, whether at home or in the office, they gave 100%. However, they didn’t neglect the play or the rest.

This Sunday…I’m trying it again. With a new purposed. So my friends, my German advice to you is – Work hard, play hard and rest well (and don’t let anyone make you feel guilty for doing so!)

Does anyone else struggle with me in taking a true Sabbath?

Any advice for those of us who do?