Baggage

Well, tomorrow we return from our tour. Somehow, calling it anything less than that which constitutes and indicates combat sells the team short. To say it was a good trip ... well ... just won’t do it.

Have you ever wanted to be a part of something unique? Yes? Then lead a mission trip. I feel that part of my duty, part of my goal is to make this experience profound. To amp it up, drive it through and to run it home. Not disallowing God to be God, but to take my responsibility as seriously as possible. Not myself seriously, but the team.

Part of that involves designing the trip and its purpose and then leading it through. Part of it is getting out of the way so that God can do what He does, and then part of it is getting us home. I feel like God gives me the opportunity to go deep into enemy territory to take supplies to the besieged. I like that. Invasion always sounded better than digging a trench and hiding. We are about God’s work, let us come from the ramparts to take the Good fight. Hooahh.

Within this idea are the supplies we bring. I think that God probably sits back and watches us pack with a smile on our face. It’s the child that packs his suitcase for a trip to the beach by himself for the very first time and has a pile of toys and games, one sock, yesterday’s underwear, and a winter coat. All good stuff, but where is the good stuff ... We brought a lot of supplies this year, too much (as always) and left much of it with Ishy, our local yocal. He’ll use it in many camps and he’ll give much of it to a local church as well. He was pumped - with his six suitcases of gear. We bring it in, use it, break some of it, wear it, paint it, pull it, kick it, and then leave it. Then, we get new stuff (souvenirs) and load that and bring it back. We never bring as much back as we take, but still ...

You know, this is true with our spiritual life as well. Very true. So true, that this kind of event, this mission, this deployment, this storming the gates of Hell with an empty squirt-gun, bears great resemblance to the aforementioned idea (always wanted to use that word!). We bring and leave what we must and replace it with something new that should be permanent, but often is not. We spent today seeing the city - all places that I now can navigate by heart. Then we ate at Pizza Hut (almost as good as Waffle House) and then shopped. We bought trinkets, plinkets, hats, toys, art, and anything else we could get our hand on. Some of it for ourselves, most of it for others. All new things. Even if it’s old, it’s new to us. We then take it back in order to please, bring joy, tell a story, and keep a fading memory kindled.

Is this not true for our hearts as well? We brought our heart (some of us had left a piece behind anyway ...) and we take back ... the memory, the experience, the scars, and the joys. Think about this; we come back different, changed, impacted ... veterans. We come and leave and take and leave. It’s profound. Our families look at the pictures, hear the stories, see the change, but unless they have had a similar experience, won’t fully understand what has taken place. They can’t. We have to bring that back. But what we fill our hearts with should not be trinkets, or toys, or that other funny hat that I waited 4 years to buy; it should be a quickened, refreshed love. Something powerful. Penetrating. Peaceful.

So families, I have so much more to tell you, but it is not mine to tell. Writing it all is simply not possible. But, you must ask your new veterans returning to you. We won this one. We’re battled and bewilderingly tired, but this one, we won. This has been the most exhausting of the four trips I have participated in. But, this battle goes to us because we obeyed by going, telling the Truth, and we won. So ask your loved one about it, but understand the tears may be on their face, but they fall on foreign soil. The empty hands, the shaking, the laughter filled with weeping is not a negative, it is the result. It is the release not of toxins, but of The Spirit. The 2 dimensional image you see of “that child” that stole a part of your son, or daughter, or wife, or husband tells very little because it is but two dimensions of a limitless experience. It is color on paper when we have experienced a stylus upon our heart. It is not the hug, the smell, the feel of the bodies we held. But it is the result of the Body that fell so that we might live. You must see the dirt, hear the wind in the trees, close your eyes and know the voices of “your” children in order to bear the mark. You must dip your hands into Grace’s magic waters and breath deeply. You must experience it. You must believe.

I go to bed now, with the hope of three hours sleep before our journey begins. We’ll look the same, but we’ll be different. We’ll have inside jokes and we’ll stand in church and purposely look for a familiar face that just three months ago was unknown. We’ll share a look, a gesture, something that reminds us that it was real.

That we really did go.

That we really did return.

That God really is that good ... all the time.

Group Hug

Every night, we debrief; we talk about the day. What worked (everything), what didn’t (can’t think of anything) and how we are feeling (like death in a toaster oven). We sit down and take about 90 minutes of talk time and turn it into 3 hours of emotional flailing. And laughing. God gave us a sense of humor so that we could better reflect Him. Not funny for the fact of being funny, but funny because there is something cathartic and narcotic in laughter. Like listening to Brian’s alarm go off over, and over, and over and him yelling “Stop it!”. Can’t coach that Brian. He then sticks his head out the door (it’s left open all night in hope that a thief might enter and steal some of the heat) and looks around as if the alarm were wrung in conjunction with a fire. We all laugh, and so the day begins. One of the most remarkable things about this trip is the amount of humor that God has stacked on the team. And most of it is my kind of humor and much of it comes from guys my age. It’s as if God knew I would need it specifically. Uh-oh.

It’s also on this trip that I am reminded that it is not just young people that get the case of the giggles. That spontaneous and viral emotion that starts with a few and affects the many. We adults need it too and it somehow seems that our group time starts with the strategic, leads to the tactical, runs headlong into the emotional and ends with the grace and laughter that God brings.

Which brings me to my point. Every night, we sit in a circle (often on the Gulf of Finland) and we discuss the day. We also do a high/low and feelings check. It’s a time t wring our hearts out, so have an emotional cup of coffee, to depend on others. There is not supposed to be any talking except for the person that is speaking, but the later in the week, the more we all offer commentary. In trips past, the “high” points of my day have revolved around me. Something I saw, or felt, or discovered. But I can say n this trip, my high’s have been truly focussed on the team. My true “high” is this time of night, when we come together and share only what we the team will know. It’s awesome.

And it’s needed. It’s hard on these trips. They just beat the tar out of you. The emotions, the hope, the despair, the commitment that may or may not be returned from the kids. All the preparation we do just to have a kid give you the finger, laugh in your face, and ignore you, not wanting to hear about “our” God. This is what this team will face on a daily basis on this trip. These are hard kids. They know they are abandoned. They know they are unwanted. They know they have no healthy role models. They know their life is bleak. They ....

But the they don’t know the rest. They don’t know that to turn away and refuse Jesus will not make them cool, or tough, or better at surviving; it will only make them lost. We want so bad for them to get it. To hear and accept the Gospel.They have accepted us, but not Christ.

So ... we do a group hug at night, sitting, watching a storm roll in. We love each other, we calculate the changes that God is enacting in our lives and we hold each other. For tomorrow is Friday, the last day at the camps.

My Heart Can't Afford This

You know, it’s interesting. Sometimes you go to a place to do one thing, and you end up doing another and completely forget the first thing that you went there to do. Like going to Home Depot. Home Depot is distraction central for men - the mecca of (AMADHD) adult male attention deficit disorder. You go in for the gas additive for your blower and you come out with a new weed eater, some weed & feed, light bulbs, a non-specific tool and at least one thing that requires batteries. What you don’t walk out with is the thing that you went in there to get in the first place. The good news is that you get to go back in there to get the priority item and the bad news is that you just might do it again. Rinse and repeat.

What I have learned, once again, is that sometimes you can do almost the opposite. You go somewhere to do something and you leave something behind. Then, you know that you must go back to retrieve said item, get so overwhelmed, you leave something else. The odd thing is that what you leave is never replaced, and what it served cannot be made whole again. It’s like gambling (so I am told); you put money down, lose it, bet more to get it back, and lose even more. Stay there long enough and you’ll lose the whole shebang. And this is what has taken place at camp 40.

Day three is usually one that you can depend on to be stable. It’s day three. You have not been there long enough to have an issue, and you have been there long enough to have a general idea of what is taking place. But, apparently, day three has a sneaky side; something that lies in wait along the trail, a booby-trap, a sabot (look up sabotage) something that penetrates and robs, something that hurts. A lot.

We had reversed our schedule to allow kids at camp 40 (the young camp) to have their bath day. But before the bath, they play on the beach. So we met them on the beach, literally. We arrived a little after 9 and they were heading across the road, moving like an undulating line of whities-tighties with little white bodies and the international symbol of plumbers wiggling and squiggling across the road. So cute, so innocent, and so possessive of our souls and hearts. We spent the next 90 minutes playing on the beach (not the surf) with our kids. Those that we had adopted into our hearts and those that had adopted us. Running, rolling, hearing Russian and answering in English and depending on smiles and inflection to speak louder than words.

The camp director approached and pulled me and Ishy aside. She looked ... distracted. With discomfort on her face and pain in her voice, she lanced my soul with her words. “Today must be the last day.” I couldn’t even think of a response. “What?” is a word uttered when you are looking to clarify the grocery list, not something you utter when a world is collapsing. Not “the world”, but a world. A world of love and grace. Where children love with a purity unmatched in our world. The state inspectors were coming and we couldn’t be there.

When we are with these kids, strange things happen. Time stops, reality dims, your focus sharpens. I could only imagine this is what a race car driver feels ... right before he rolls the car and gets ejected into a pile of burning glass. Honestly. My first reaction was to not fall down. My second was having to figure out how I was going to tell the team. I called for them to listen and then stared at the sand. I hoped the big robot spider from Transformers was going to jump up and kill me. He didn’t. Coward. So, I did what I am supposed to do - I told the team that this was it. They had 10 minutes. It was a hateful thing to have to say and I hated saying it and ...

They each scooped “theirs” up and began to weep. We said goodbye, watched the undie train snake back across the street and ... they were gone. So we all went our separate ways to process and then headed towards the bus to take our shattered hearts back to the hotel.

I ache. My heart, my head, my body. This team is ... wow. They are all wow, but this one has something different. We’ve had our Currahee, and now we have faced our “Day of Days.” Friday will be our Bastonge.

(((Added Thursday afternoon))) To finish the thought, we came to camp 40 to pick up what we had left last year. The year before that to do the same. But somehow, the price of admission is greater than that which is collected. I keep coming back to the table to pick up the pieces of my heart and I keep losing that bet. So if you happen to be walking along the Gulf of Finland, near where it is cool and green and the voices and laughter of children echo amongst birch and evergreen, look to the sand. Run your foot through its course grains and search hardily ... for you may find that which I long for. My heart.

Coming to you live, from the surface of the sun ...

You may not know this, but things are not what we thought they would be. Take the weather for instance. I told the team that the projected temperature would be in the low 70s during the day and low 50s during the night. “Bring a jacket!” I said. It’s a good thing that I said that, otherwise when it dropped below 90 we might get a chill on. Did you hear that? 90. It will be 101 on Thursday. Now, that’s not too hot for my Texans, except for the fact that the humidity is devastating. I spent 30 minutes trying to dry off after I got out of the shower. I thought it was Groundhog Day. I kept thinking, "Didn't I already dry off?" Even the mosquitoes are quitting their strafing runs early. And no, we don’t have AC. Anywhere. We don’t even have fans. What we have is temperatures that are, on a daily basis, breaking historical records for the past 70 years. We went through over 50 liters of water ... today. I drank six myself. I don’t drink six liters ... of anything .... ever. Except ice tea. The good thing is that the hotel cafeteria (just can't bring myself to call it a restaurant) has “Cool Tea”. The bad news is that it is like calling this temperature "balmy." I don’t know what the definition of “cool” is but I do know that tea should not be warmer than me and it definitely should not have been cut with brake fluid. I’m not even entirely sure it should be that color. What I am sure of is that it is not tea.

Just to make it clear, it’s so hot that my the sweat drips into my food at lunch and dinner. Imagine Corky Holland eating the most devastatingly hot wings you can imagine. He gets rivulets of sweat, and I have stream. I’m not sure I have ever been this hot. I mean, my bed is wet. I’m glistening, but not just in personality.

But, onto the camps. Today was day one at both camps. We left the city and drove out and had about 2 hours at camp 14, the older kids camp. After that, we went to the hotel and checked in and it only took an hour to get the luggage up to our rooms. The elevator has a weight limit of 600 pounds ... so most of us guys don’t get to ride together. After lunch and the sauna (the cafeteria), we went on to camp 40, the younger kids camp. Now, here is the advantage of a day in a city where the temperature should be 65 at 3pm and is 98 instead; the kids were all in their underwear. Imagine 50 Russian kids, all between 3 and about 6, running around in their undies yelling for us. I’m not even sure I can post pictures without going to jail! And what made it really cute is that these were not whitey-tighties, these were more like dirty-frumpies. I spent the first 5 minutes making adjustments to kids that obviously aspire to be plumbers. Never seen so much snow-white flesh in my life!

What is truly amazing is how God has orchestrated this trip in so many ways. It’s hot in a place that has has not been this hot since the Germans were running around. It’s so humid, my cracked heals have healed. And I am so blessed, that I once again sit here, at 2:15am, speechless. How does God do it? During our evening de-brief, we all sat in wonder as we realized that the awful airport experience, in the words of one immaculate sage, was our Currahee. The 24 hours of running through airports took a loose family and turned it into something that only God can do; it turned us into a Body. We have always had great teams on this trip, but I can truly say that this is the most profound collection of hearts I have ever worked with.

Ishi, our lead translator, stopped me while I was walking and said “Wow Dahveed. Thuh kids have already axcepted thees teem. Wow” Now Ishy is anything but silent, but this is a telling statement from him. This is the first time that I ever had a first day that felt like the third. We came. We saw. He conquered.

At camp 40, the team with the most active kids arrived and as soon as they walked up, the Babooshkahs (the women who keep the kids) said they were going to go have a cup of tea. My first thought was, “Wow! Are you crazy? Tea? In this heat?” My second thought was that this is the first time they left the kids with us alone. The trust was not just assumed, it was manifest.

So, it’s been a good day. Tomorrow night, I will share the computer with others so they can write to you themselves. We may even put a message in a bottle and float it across our sweaty backs to you!

Please continue to pray because the threat of heat related issues is real and I am all but pouring water down their mouths. Everyone is eating well enough, so stop worrying about that. Hannah likes the caviar and McKenzie has tried everything that has passed in front of her. We’re well, we’re loved and we’re a team. We miss you all, but this is where we need to be. And now that I just fell asleep with the computer on my chest, I will bid you farewell from the surface of the sun.

The 2010 Russia team

Sweaty and ready

If you have never seen God plan ahead on your behalf and then work really hard during a given process on your behalf and then allow circumstances and challenges to abound so that He can quietly make His presence known on your behalf, then you should strongly consider signing up for a mission trip. Case in point ...

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times and it happened to be in the middle of summer. We arrived at Amarillo airport all on time and the Continental airline staff got us checked in, all 42 checked bags and 20 carry-ons, in less than 30 minutes. What I should have considered is that this was not so much a good start as it was a way to make sudden the utter chaos to follow. I’ll not bore you with the details of our families sending us off, the sweet fellowship at the airport, or the tender goodbyes.That would be like describing the Apollo 13 mission but not including anything after it’s launch. We know our families love us, that's one of the things that makes this possible.

You see, we had been advised to check our bags into Houston. Then we would have 2 1/2 hours to pull all of the above bags and re-check them all the way to St. Petersburg. That way we would be doing all of this in familiar English and not unfamiliar Russian. Good plan, right? Well, no good plan survives first contact with the enemy. We get to Houston, run to baggage claim, collect our bags and then board the “Train” that is really three egg cartons strung together on a 5-mile-per-hour train that has a greater resemblance to my sons Thomas the Tank Engine track set than anything designed to carry people. Each car caries 5 people and their luggage. There’s three cars to a train. There’s 21 of us. No sweat. It’s early and I have so much caffeine in me that I am making coffee nervous. So, I board the first train so I can run ahead and tell the Singapore Airlines people that we are coming. Tick-tock, the watch says. Just more than 2 hours to make it.

So, I ride the train for 15 minutes and wound up back where I started, but on the other side of the hall. There is the rest of the team, laughing at us (the train only goes one way), but now most of the rest of them board. So, then we all make it to the gate and it is packed. The short version here is that it takes an hour to get checked in and oh, by the way, you have to get your luggage from baggage claim in Moscow. WHAT? I asked. Uh-huh, she said. Tick-tock goes my blood pressure. So we run some more, just to find out we beat the crew to the plane by 30 minutes. On the plane we go and it is the nicest cattle-car class plane I have ever flown in. Everyone has an AC plug at their seat, a USB charging port, plenty of leg room, I got an aisle seat, the plane is new and even the food was good (ask Hannah about the yummy sausage!) So, we’re good. This is a good omen, and I don’t believe in omens, but if I did, this would be a good one. Then there’s Moscow. Moscow. Seriously. Moscow.

We get off the plane, (we’re late) and have right at two hours to once again, pull 42 checked bags, 30 carry-ons, 2o team members and a stressed team leader from passport control, to baggage claim, to ticketing, to the gate, to the seats. We come over the rise where customs is and it is wall-to-wall people. I thought maybe Bruce Springstein was there, holding up traffic. We shove our way through the Russian crowd (they don’t smile very often) and make it to the open escalator that leads to our parole .. I mean, passport control and find that there is probably 1500 people trying to get through 8 passport lanes and that have an institutional fear of lines. Think of 4 hour glasses set on their side. It’s not lines 1,2, and 3, it’s feed lot 1, 2, and 3. Bad. Really bad. Less than 90 minutes now and we can barely see daylight. This ends when we all, 45 minutes later, get through, find our bags and then head to ticketing - 40 minutes before the plane takes off. Do you know that I like to be early to things? I’m freaking out.

But, then God does it again, someone tells me there is a guy with an “Amarillo” sign and sure enough, it’s a Buckner guy that is running us towards ticketing. Long line, angry Russians, 45 minutes later (had to pay for some excess baggage here as well, did I mention that?) and we are now sprinting towards the next gate with a 5 foot Russian that speaks as much English as I do Klingon on point. It’s O.J. time through the airport. We went through the metal detectors so fast I could have been carrying the 11th Armored Tank Division in my carry-on and they would have not noticed. He chases me all the way down the jetway and into the airplane where we find ourselves soaking wet (it was 90 today in Moscow and they don’t have AC) exhausted (it’s 7am back home), and thoroughly shot. Did I mention that we had to gate check our second carry-ons every time?

But, here’s the bottom line: we’re here families. Every single piece of luggage made it Through all of that chaos, we lost nothing, we had Russians helping us every step of the way, and even an American missionary family that Anne and I have known in the past was offering help in case we got stuck in Moscow.

God is so good. When you pray for us, and I hope you all are, tell Him thank you. He has kept us on task and humble. Tired, but not taxed. He has been so faithful every step of the way. This has been the worst overseas experience I have ever had regarding traveling, and not a single moan or whimper was released by the team. They have run, trotted, carried, trooped, hoisted, slugged, and coerced themselves over 5,000 miles and did it in such a way that someone identified us as believers just because of the smiles on our faces. What a remarkable group of people.

Families, please know that we love you and we miss you, “... but we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.”

Weakened, so that we can be strengthened.

One Last Time

It's that time again. In 9 days, we'll all roll out of our beds and get ready for it. "The Trip." Not the Russia trip, but the trip of getting from here to there. The drive to the airport, terrified that you've forgotten something (I have your passports!) Getting through check-in watching David panic as he pays for all that luggage. Eating a burrito knowing you'll regret it in an hour. Saying goodbye to family and trying to figure out why there is a soulful game in your gut involving the butterflies of excitement trying to land on that iron ball of regret at leaving family. Then making your way to the gate and hoping Byron doesn't stall us at boarding time. Then the first flight. Then get the luggage and re-check it and then ... the 12 hour flight. Then customs, then another flight, then the drive into the hotel then sleeping on a bed designed for a Hobbitt! "OOooo ... my precious ..." And all of this only takes up two days and 9 time zones ... so ... ok, then.

Then, it begins in a whole new way. The last of so many things. Last tourism with a great group of folks, last Folk Show (actually, we're seeing the ballet - I lied!), last souvenirs of tacky t-shirts (McLenin in McDonald's livery, and yes, I talked to them about copyright infringement) last time I'll see those remarkable faces and souls in camps 40 and 14. Last time ... last time. But, it won't be the last time for some things. As we take the Gospel to the kids, God is there. He was there long before we arrived, and He'll be there long after. It won't be the last time I pray for them, or think about them, or miss them. It won't be the last time God works a matter of love in my heart and it won't be the last time that I miss home with a power that is overwhelming while weeping for children that are not mine. It won't be the last time that I leave what I love to join what I love and then repeat the process in order to come home. It won't be the last time I cry. It won't be the last time ... and on it goes.

I have this picture in my mind, of a scene taken from across the road at camp #40. The scene should have the buildings and children in it, but the they are not there and even the forest and sand looks different. It's clean. Spotless. Almost untouched. Like the world looked like generations ago - no human intrusions or cumbersome people about. Then I realize there is one person, squatting down. His presence seems to lighten things up like those sunglasses that make things brighter even if they are not. It's the Son of God, standing on that shore, looking around. I realize this is before time, when the Spirit is still on the waters, before creations' completion. Jesus is there, waiting, knowing the kids will be there, knowing we will be there. Even then, even at creation, He knew. All along He knew we would be there. Some before us, some after.

So I am reminded, it's not the last time. Not at all. It's just the created following the Creator in order to do what He commands. God was there, in those camps and He's still there, in those camps. He'll be there long after we're gone. So, let's go meet Him, one last time.

Sweeping Up Rocks

As we got off the bus on our 5^th day, our last day, I watched a woman sweeping the dirt road. She had a broom that had the bottom few inches of it worn away, and was sweeping into little piles, anything that might trip or cause pain. With sincere motions, but a delicate touch she swept and swept and swept.

Today was a hard day. No question about that. We said goodbye to children, little parts of our soul and significant portions of our hearts. The last day at the camps is something we talk about in training. It’s painful, it’s tearful, it’s uncomfortable, but you can’t have a beginning without an ending. S it logical that we long to make the trip to Russia, dread leaving, and then can’t wait to get home. All of us, last night, commented on wanting to board the airplane immediately. It ‘s like we are carrying some precious cargo, some invaluable commodity, some irreplaceable information that we must immediately begin caring for, nurturing and the returning to our homes to share. What an odd sensation as this.

The day has gone beautifully. Tears, laughter, games, the Gospel. One of the most difficult aspects of this trip is that we rarely see an fruit. Many kids listen intently and they ask great questions and at least let us believe that they are listening to what we are saying. But, we don’t know what is in their hearts. I do know what I experienced, however.

From one vantage point I saw Brad, sitting at a table with 5 older Russian boys, being their friend; a mentor, talking, sharing. I heard Tad, beautifully and gracefully driving home the Gospel message with great patience as the children acted their age. Listening while contorting into various positions of barely bridled boredom. I could see the shadows of the older girls in a building while having their Bible study and “slumber party.” I could hear Brandon’s voice (he apparently left his inside voice in Texas along with mine and Elaine’s!) talking to the older boys with his bandanna and sunglasses. A mystique he created by being himself with them. I could see Byron, a father of fathers to these children, one arm on a child, one on the table, teaching, showing, guiding, loving. I could see Hannah, being led around and used as a playmate with a small, beautiful, but reserved little girl. They would laugh, Hannah would look at me, and her smile somehow brightened the day.

But there was something else there. Something that caused our words to being to slur towards the end. Something hard, and painful, and heavy. It was those little rocks that loving caretaker had been sweeping. They were there. There were 19 piles of them, one for each team member. They were in neat little balls and they were heavy, and they were dirty, and they choked us with their dust. We tripped upon them and had I been Melville, then my chest would have been a cannon and I would have shot my heart upon them. Only, those rocks, those stony reminders of a glorious week and a difficult day seemed to gather upon our exit. Like the children, they followed us to the bus, they slowly dragged themselves into the road and there they discarded themselves into our hearts.

Our hearts are heavy now. With rocks that are pieces of love and memory that are difficult to capture and too elusive to explain completely. They form the most precious souvenir that we will bring back. Memories of a day, bathed in glory, formed before time, and beautifully difficult.

I'll See You On The Beach

Today is the last day and I want to share today with you once it is done. It's the last day at the camps, and we are all expecting the predictable difficulties that will come with it. It's not an easy day, and it's not one that we would avoid either. 

For our team meeting, we met on the beach last night. The Gulf of Finland. Had a great time sharing and praying and looking to see what God was going to accomplish today. We also jumped in! COLD water! Very, very cold water. Some of the guys went swimming and I made it in up to my waist before the feelings in my feet left. Did I say that it was cold? But we watched the sunset and talked and then walked for an ice cream.

Please pray for us today. It's a busy day today and we wont head back to the city until 9am tomorrow. Then a long day of sightseeing, a farewell dinner with our translators and then a 3am wake-up to head to the airport. Know that you are all loved, that we are all well, and that we covet your prayers. We're heading off in an hour or so to experience a day that will mark this trip. It'll be a day that changes us at a spiritually genetic level and one that leaves us with memories that we'll carry forever. As we walk out the hotel doors with the last bags and the last supplies and for the older kids, the last goodbyes I remember a line from a movie I love.

I'll see you on the beach.

One More Time

We are all so blessed to be here! There is no easy way to describe what we feel when the day is over. Exhaustion is part of it, so is a sense of accomplishment and an event greater sense of having achieved the unachievable. You walk into these camps with an emotion that can span from shear, unbridled joy and hope while the person next to you is bearing trepidation, and dread. It’s a peculiar sight. When is truly remarkable is that on the next day, those emotions can switch places.

Yesterday morning, we started the day off at camp #40 – the younger kids camp. It’s hard to describe. A dozen or so non-descript buildings nestled into a forest b the edge of the sea. The building themselves resemble something out of a fairy tale. Not quaint, like Alice In Wonderland and night quite The Brothers Grim, but perhaps something in between. Maybe Little Red Riding Hood. A sweet faced girl with some unspoken … discomfort lurking about. There is a large grassy area in the center that is unleveled, full of holes from removed trees and absolutely infested in mosquitoes. Did I mention those? They come at you in squadrons here. They attack and suck the life right out of your heart. “Bzzzz. Fat target – red shirt – 3 o’clock!” The first thing we do upon exiting the bus, and it’s only a 10-minute ride from the hotel to the camps, is to apply copious amounts of bug spray.

The kids at camp #40 were really sweet. We start the day off with a puppet show and music. The translators know some children’s songs and the kids love the puppets. Honestly, they could just raise their puppets above the curtains and then fall asleep and the kids would love it anyway. They smile and giggle and rock back and forth and you chuckle and take their hands into yours, and they feel the love and recognize that they are unique and special in God’s kingdom and you laugh at their joy and they laugh at yours and suddenly all is right in the world.

After puppets, we go off into our individual areas – 4 of them – and do crafts, Bible stories, more crafts and generally allow ourselves to be inundated with spit and love – both of which are rather sticky, thank you. I have been taking pictures and helping out with logistics, but I have also spent some time with the more “active” kids. This is a nice way of saying that they are typically insane with energy. But, yesterday was different. When I walked around to “my kids” and we all refer to our children with similar possessive feelings, I saw a very unusual sight. They were sitting down, in a circle, doing a craft! Stickers on a door hanger! “What miracle is this?” I asked myself. Usually, they would have eaten the door hangers and stuffed the stickers in your nose – this is amazing!

All the kids were sitting at a little table with mismatched chairs and with the team members wedged in. As I further rounded the corner, I saw one of the kids that I truly adore. He has cerebral palsy and is quite a little sweetheart. I approached him and sat down after getting some stickers and a door hanger from the supplies. I reached around with my right arm and snuggled him in close, so that he could lean against me. No, really, he needed to lean into me, not me into him. Really, I didn’t need that all.

Well, maybe just a little. After the stickers exercise, which he used to teach me the Russian words for what each sticker represented, we started playing with what I am convinced is a hat, shaped like a mouse. He thinks it’s a dog, but it sure looks like a mouse to me. Anyway, as we’re playing with this, he is pressing the nose and it sings a little song. So, I stick my hand inside the mouse (dog!) and start making movements in time with the music. In between each line in the song, I touch the snout of the … whatever it is to his nose and he begins to laugh. And laugh, and laugh, and laugh. Leaning over, not quite falling off the bench, laughter. Then he starts pressing the button like he’s the character John in LOST. Over and over and over he is doing this.

But, I also realize he is saying something in between the laughter. I listen in, and he is repeating a phrase that I only partially understand. Yan, our interpreter, walks over and listens in. The little boy tells Yan what he is saying. Yan laughs, looks at me, and says something that takes the breath way.

My heart stops. Whatever words I had turned to a lump and my chest closes, and suddenly I feel the warmth of this small child pressing against me. The day turns to colors that are resplendent in a glory that can only come from above. I am stunned and I am at home and I am overwhelmed.

This child, whom I loved last year, in these few words, has yet again been a silent thief to my heart as he says in Russian; "One more time."

The Price Is Right

What would be your terms if I were to ask to buy your car? What about your time? What would you ask if I wanted to buy your heart? You discover lots of things when you participate in these kinds of intense, ministry/mission events. Actually, that’s not true. You discover lots of things about your kind and gracious God when you let Him show work and when you pay attention.

Day two, Tuesday was a good day, but in a different way. In some ways the kids took it easy on us on Monday. Smiles and good times Monday was, but Tuesday was a bit more challenging.

There is no question they remember us. The recognition of tradition was strong yesterday as Gennady (the director at camp #14 – the older kids) spoke during the opening moments. He has the kids line up in lines, almost like patrols in boy scouts, and then the kids announce their names and whether they are all present and accounted for and then they recite their “poem” or motto, really. Gennady then took a good ten minutes to talk about the camp and to talk about our commitment to them. It’s like we earned a new level, a new rank, amongst them.

The price of this new level of recognition is … whatever price we are willing to pay. You see, Tuesday had more frustration than Monday. At #14, the older kids camp, they were a little more aggressive. Not necessarily mean spirited, but they began to treat us like they treat one another. This would be great if they were gentle kids, but the camp environment is far more Darwinian than Utopian. The strongest and largest and meanest often gets the respect. The week, the disabled, the small, the meek get most of the abuse. Some of the abuse is … typical of kids. Some, however, is not.

Instead of developing a special handshake, a kind nickname, a particular motion or action, we were given a glimpse of their frustration I believe.

I was speaking with one of the translators and with one of the camp leaders and was hearing a story that truly broke my heart. The older camp is now experiencing “second generation” kids. These are kids that have come to the camps, gotten pregnant (sometimes by choice, sometime by force) and now the children are sending their children to the camps. It is a story that often becomes more sad and lonely as it is told.

But, in spite of all this and in many ways, in light of all this comes the following realization. Their treatment of us indicates, in my opinion, a sign of expected acceptance. It speaks of us becoming one of then. The window to their world has grown from a peephole to a full size window.

The price of this acceptance is that we are absolutely willing to take and see the worst in the kids because we want to give and show the absolute best. The love we have for these kids shrinks away like dried fruit in light of the love God has for them.

Please know that we covet your prayers. Yesterday was a little frustrating for some, but not for all. We had some challenging kids in both camps. We’re not getting all the time with the kids we had hoped for, it’s chaotic at times, and we’re still trying to sleep in an environment of “White Nights”. But we are absolutely looking toward the day when one, some, or many of these kids will confess with their mouths and believe in their hearts that Jesus Christ is Lord.

The Power of Touch

First day. It was a great day yesterday. The camps had not changed much – the kids a year taller, but altogether the same kids and same camps as last year. At #14, the older kids camps, we were able to quickly get into the groove and get the day done. We have to consciously remember that it’s not about completing the schedule or punching a clock, it’s about presenting ourselves to the kids. Day 1 is always about camaraderie more than anything else. And it’s about seeing what worked in our planning times back in Amarillo and what will work in the reality that is the camps.

#40, the younger kids came towards the end of the day. We arrived on time, but there was a man who worked with dogs that was there entertaining the kids. We didn’t get our full allotment of time with them, less than an hour and a half, but we got lots of smiles. The younger kids are more about the touch and smile than the talk and sports. They are busy, they are loud, they are crazy at times and you cant help but chuckle when they react to you. You sit down, look at them, your reaction mirrors God’s in that you laugh at their energy and tenderness and you realize they know. They know a fundamental truth about themselves even tough their mental and, often physical, capacity is limited.

That truth is this: that they are loved. That they are loved, they are desired, and that they are made in the image of a gracious God. This is not an enormous revelation mind you, but it is profound. There is a degree of sadness when one comes here. The conditions are not typical of Western standards. This is not a vacation camp. You don’t send your kids here so they can play with their friends and so you can have some peace. This is their life.

So we returned to the hotel, had dinner (kind of) and had our team meeting. We washed off the bug spray, ink, and drool. We took showers and reset everything for today. But more than anything else, we witnessed something. We witnessed that God is alive and well. That He loves children. We witnessed that He still heals through the power of touch. 

Only The Dirty Can Get Cleaned

Where to begin? Today is the break-in day. You have one day to get in groove with where you are. Now, if you have never traveled overseas, then this may not seem to be all that difficult, but after having been removed and moved over 9 time zones, you feel a little … out of sorts. Languages, food, atmosphere, customs, sites, smells, paperwork, norms, expectations, etc, etc, etc - this all seems to conspire to kill you. Elaine keeps asking, “What time is it in Texas?” and usually someone retorts with “Don’t you mean what day is it?” You spend so much time, energy, and money preparing for a trip like this and then when it gets here, you feel like you volunteered to see what being washed in a washing machine feels like only to be followed by really desiring to see how that “Gentle Cycle” on the dryer works out.

“Bang … bang… bang …”

“What is that, your shoes in the washing machine?”

“No, that’s my head – I’m in the washing machine.”

Then the hotel appears, you get attacked by a strange bed after having found the slot you put the key in to get the electricity to your room turned on only after having discovered that the AC control was installed by the same people who put them in Glorieta - you can set it on “Cool” all you want, but it’s just a fan, kind sir! Then you wake up wondering the same things all over again and further wondering whose idea it was to place the pickled herring and meatballs at breakfast in such close proximity with the boiled eggs. “There’s no bathroom on the bus, you know!” Meanwhile, Tad, Bandon and I are finishing off our fourth cups of coffee (they were small cups, honey) and laughing at the irony of coming this far just around the world just to discover another group of Americans (from Brigham Young University) that are studying Russian, one of which, having just graduated from my former high school in Marietta, Georgia. “POW!” World’s collide.

“Thud … thud … thud …”

“What’s that thumping sound?”

“It’s me. In the dryer.”

World’s collide and the energy dispelled, propels. Feel free to put that on a bumper sticker.

After a day of tourism and a two-hour team meeting where we watched Joella’s head spin around (she could organize the rocks on the moon, and still have time left over for a mission trip!) while giving us our marching orders for tomorrow. And march we shall. We’ll be downstairs with luggage (we head to our next hotel) at 7:30, eat breakfast, and load up by 830am. Then a two hour ride where we’ll disgorge into our new home for the next five nights and then immediately run off to the two camps. Return to our unseen rooms, another meeting, another opportunity to watch Joella, and then rinse and repeat … I mean, get up and do it all over again.

But amidst all of this, something happens when God is at work and you’re staying out of His way. You know how all the clothes sometimes turn into a rope while they are in the washing machine or dryer? No? Okay, well it happens to me more often that I have told Anne. You pull out the one pair of jeans you want and everything else is all wound up and just comes right out as well. Looks like Man vs. Wild used them to climb out of a window. Well, when God is involved, and He would not do this to your laundry without good reason, you go through this process with a group of people and a similar effect happens. Where one goes, the others go. What one feels, the other feels. It’s called being a family. It’s called serving the unserved, loving the unloved and giving from our lack instead of our excess. It’s depending on God and his adopted children for … everything. It’s saying, “Take my life Lord. No, seriously Lord, take it. Not just lyrics, take it. If my life will save one other life, you can have it!”

Tomorrow is the first day of five. We begin an adoption process tomorrow. The kids will adopt us and we’ll adopt them and prayerfully, somewhere in that process, somewhere over the next five days, if the ground is good, if the seed is well cast, and God desires it – maybe, just maybe we’ll get to see the sprouts of what will be a future brother or sister in Christ. Another adopted son or daughter of the kingdom.

“BuZZZZZZZZ!”

“What’s that buzzing sound?”

“It’s me getting out of the dryer. I’m done.”

“How was it?”

 

“Cleansing.”

All Accounted For

We're here! Everyone made it safe and sound. Al the luggage made it, everyone has a little sanity left, and although our bodies are exhausted, our hearts are just fine. I will post some more tomorrow night, but know that your prayers were felt and answered! Someone please call Anne, our home computer is down, and let her know we're doing well!

More tomorrow, it's late ...

David

Day of Days

Yes, I know I am borrowing from Band Of Brothers, but the title still fits, as does the mood of adventure, service, and love. Tomorrow, 18 of us leave for St. Petersburg, Russia. One of our team members left early in order to visit a friend, but the rest of us begin our adventure tomorrow. Or did we begin it back when we first confessed Jesus as Christ? Either way, tomorrow is a big day. 14 hours of flying time, 24 hours of travel time. 3 different planes, lots of bags and lots of supplies. We'll stay in three different hotels while we are there and we'll work with over 100 orphans from 3 years old to 19 years old. We'll color, we'll play, we'll laugh, we'll cry, and we'll be blessed for it.

Please keep us in your prayers and check this blog daily for updates! God is good!

Here we go!

David

A New Year

Raise your hand if you love spring? I can't believe it, some of you actually allow your runny noses and watery eyes to dictate your dislike of spring. Shame! I love spring. Taxes are filed (and money is owed!), my birthday (May 1st), my dad's & brothers' birthdays (April 28 & May 13 respectively), flowers, allergies, sunny evenings, seeing Zachary in short sleeves (I get to gnaw on his bear arms), and all things new. Spring rocks. And Easter. The reason for it all. No Easter, no Christmas (it would have been just another kid born in a barn). Know Easter, know Christmas! Did I say I loved spring?

Another reason is because it is time to return to doing what I truly love - being overseas. Not overseas, but being on the pointy end of ministry. There are many pointy ends in Amarillo, but there is something about being away from everything that we depend on, everything that we know and trust, and love and allowing ourselves to find a deeper dependence on God. All the things we do here are more difficult there, so it follows that as we practice faith here, we survive by faith there.

A new year. A new Russia trip. Some new folks, some old-timers. What I see in this team is what I saw last year -a unique group of people that God has great plans for. I have seen the list of kids at the orphanages and there are some names missing, which means there are still parts of my heart that I will never see again. But there are many names I know, and many new names as well. What is truly Godly is that God knows all these names. He knows their struggles & successes. He knows the hair on their heads, their personalities, their dreams and their fears ... and He knows us.

Luke 12:35 tells us to "Be ready and keep your lamps burning." Okay God, make us ready. Light our lamps. Give us the fuel we need, the direction, the leadership, the challenges and the grace and heart to see the orphans as you do. It's a new year in Russia, but thankfully, it's still the same God.

Time in a bottle

What is it about time that is so alluring to us? We’ve been back two weeks and already, the clock has attacked. I think one of the things that make mission trips so … remarkable is that for a few days, we don’t focus on ourselves. Duh, I know.

I was watching some golf on TV this afternoon - it’s Sunday and we don’t have cable, so it’s either that or some 30 minute add for injectible (is this a word?) botulism - and I chuckled when a pro golfer looked down at his watch in the middle of the 12th hole. Now think about this – what is he looking at his watch for? Does he have a date? Is there a movie coming on that he does not want to miss? Is he bored? Why do we always want to know what time it is unless of course we are so deep into something that the lights can be turned off in the hall outside your office and you don’t even notice? You know why? It’s because there is something within us that whispers that there is something else we could be doing. It says things like; “You have a meeting” or “you’re going to miss class” or “no, it’s not over yet” or something else along those lines. Let’s face it, we have the spiritual attention span of a puppy.

Western thought is time oriented. Everything we do is based around the next thing we need to do. We don’t focus on the now, we focus on the next. Fitting people in, fitting jobs or work in, fitting God in, fitting our family in. To stay organized I have a PDA, a MacBook, and an iMac, and that’s just for work and they all just seem to make me wonder about what I have not accomplished. Anne has several calendars as well and when we go out on a date without Zachary, do you know what we talk about at dinner? We go through our calendars. We’re slaves.

In Russia, we only worried about two different times – what time the bus left the following morning and what time we needed to get up to catch said bus after we consumed our allotment of croissants and boiled eggs. Okay, that’s not entirely true – we did have to work within a time schedule at the orphanages. At the older kids (we worked with them from 1030am to 2pm) we needed to watch the clock to make our rotations. 40 minutes each of a craft, a Bible lesson, and a sport. We rotated so that everyone could do everything everyday, but there was one standing order – if a child was wanting to go deep – stay there, forget the clock.

At the little kids orphanage, (330pm until 530 or 6pm) we just watched the clock because there never seemed to be enough time to do the things we wanted to do, once we found them. (Raise your hand if humming Jim Croce. Funny enough, he wrote that song after the birth of his first ... child.) Time in a bottle? I’ll take a 2-liter with ice. With these little kids, the end of our time denoted the end of the day, which reminded us that we had one less day with the kids. Which made us look at our watches to see what day it was and then count down how many days we had left.

When we lived overseas, we lived in a culture where a 2-hour visit to someone’s home constituted a short stop over. If you wanted to borrow sugar, plan for a 2-hour, coffee fed discussion in a language you barely speak, but is friendly and loving none-the-less. Shopping for a week’s worth of food took you all day. Not kidding. All day, because everyone wants to talk to you. The people never focused on time, they focused on events. You did not “have” to do anything. We would set a meeting for a certain time and when that time came only the Americans would be there – the nationals were still wandering town spending time with people- - how dare they! A spirit led, Family Circus like serpentine path being the fastest way between two points. What would our lives be like if we spent all of our time focusing on others and not on our own agenda and …

I love Anne and Zachary, but I ache for those orphans. Still, two weeks after returning, I ache. Looking at the pictures, finding bottles of bubbles in the bottom of my backpack, talking to the new friends that were, always will be, my teammates only serves to rub in that I miss those kids. Not just the kids, I miss the focus, the energy, the passion, the love. Your whole world revolved around someone other than you. You did not matter, others mattered. I miss that.

I miss being about someone else other than myself. The duffel bags are all gone – they’re in Kenya now with the next mission team. The “Russia room” where we prepped looks like a museum - a display of missional effort. We’re all back into our work, back into our lives, but I find myself looking over at Anne and saying; “I miss being overseas on the mission field." But if I were honest. If I really wanted to be truthful, I would say this; “I miss being solely about others.”

We are perfectly made and uniquely gifted not for our own work or our own betterment or our own agenda. We are perfectly made and uniquely gifted to serve God in whatever capacity He asks. We are children of the King, adopted heirs, God’s aliens & strangers in this world and we should savor, marinate ourselves, in the time God has given us to serve Him until He calls us home. Others, not self.

On second thought, keep the time in a bottle; I’ll take an ocean of God’s love for mankind. Maybe I won’t be so rushed to drink it all in.

Sarah sleeps

Some people can sleep on a plane, and some can’t, and a few people will say they sort-of can sleep, but that’s like they sort-of can breath. Either you can or you can’t. If you sort of can, then you don’t know either way, which means you don’t remember, which means you slept just fine thank you. I’m a no-sleep plane guy. If I don’t sleep across the Atlantic, I might sleep on the connecting, but that's about it. Otherwise, it’s iPods, cheap paperbacks that aren’t cheap, flight magazines and the airline-shopping magazine. Shopping in the middle of the Atlantic! This has got to be an American invention – when the people are bored, maybe they’ll spend money.

Some people however could sleep outside in a metal tent, during a Texas hailstorm. Let me introduce you to Sarah G. Sarah G., or just Sarah, is an anomaly that we are all envious of. She can sleep anywhere. Standing up, lying down, middle of a loud folk show, on a hot bus … on an airplane. She has that remarkable ability to get the rest she needs, when she needs it. This is certainly a gift I would love to have. Anne has it as well. Sarah took every opportunity to sleep - and her energy showed it. I’ve decided not to post any pictures (what was funny in Russia just seems like a cruel idea now), but know that Sarah slept everywhere she could! I still am finding sleep an elusive charecter that taunts at one moment and flees the next.

Now that we are three days back in the U.S., I truly am jealous. I have not slept well since we returned and I slept little while we were there. Frankly, this whole process reminds me that God designed us for activity and rest and that one depends on the other. You cannot serve our God, our risen Savior, and not spend some energy doing it. And you cannot serve without finding physical rest and spiritual rest at the end of the day. Solace is important, refuge is crucial and they both are needed in the battles that we wage, so we need to always return to our Source at the end of the day.

We’re home now and only one bag is missing (camera bag). Everyone is exhausted and still about 6 time zones short of being fully present. As we spent months preparing for this trip, I hope we will spend the rest of our lives reflecting on it. I pray that we will find rest in the One who sent us – our most loving God. May we all awaken from this past week and immediately seize every opportunity to serve! Rest now, for the harvest still waits.

A repose of heavenly order

I love to travel. Actually, I love to be at places - I hate getting there. Planes and airports are fun, but not fun in a traveling sort of way. Good place to people watch, bad place to lounge. Tomorrow will be full of both. I do look forward to the McDonald's in the Frankfurt airport, but unless I get a free upgrade to the "able to sleep and move around" class in the front of the plane, I'll be sitting in cattle car class with the rest of civilization. Here's the good thing though, I only have one carry on and my two check-in bags are so light that I had to pack creatively so my exceptionally dirty clothes don't get all sloshed around.

We packed really well to get here. I mean, really well. Major packing achievement. But when we came, things were well packed and we had no room for anything. Returning to the states, your loosely packed, the supplies are gone, the bubbles are gone, the 12 packages of ziplock baggies are gone, the toys are gone, and it just seems like you are left with too much room in your suitcase. You're also left with too much room in your hearts.

I miss Anne and Zachary and it is now officially forbidden for anyone to talk about their family until we are actually inside the DFW airport. I even got to talk with them briefly, but I miss them. I want to be home. I want to hold them and hear her voice and his laugh. But, where we came here heavy, we're leaving awfully light.

To say the trip was a success would be unfair. How do you gauge this? Decisions for Christ? Maybe, but that's not our job nor was it the purpose. He is the Lord of the harvest, we're just workers. Did we accomplish everything? In some ways yes and in some ways no. The camps had changed so we had to improvise. Frankly, I think the improvisation worked better than what we had planned. But we loved the kids and we received profoundly high praise from the directors and from the Buckner staff. Everything that did come off, came off perfectly. Perfectly. Did we have everything we needed? Yes. Did we love every minute? Yes. Are we sad to leave, but happy to go? Yes. We're coming home and what a great trip we had. God has shone His grace upon us and I feel we wear it now like sunburn.

Instead of supplies, my suitcase now contains a few souvenirs. It also contains clothes that I really should just burn, if they'd even light. Does dirt burn? How about sweat and slobber? Instead of anticipation in my heart, now there is just a lump. A feeling to be fed or ignored depending on the moment. No, not a feeling, a reality. A reality that God is amazing. A reality that the children affect you more than you affect them. A reality that in exhaustive service, comes a worn-out tranquility.

We sleep now for only 3 or 4 hours - if we can sleep at all - before we leave for the airport at 4am. We'll close our eyes and find ourselves reflecting on kids and desiring family and familiarity. We'll sleep as servants should, and find whatever rest God will give us - a repose of heavenly order.

International language of love

I will place a post about our last day sometime later today (tonight). I will tell you this - it has been an excellent week. Excellent. Very smooth, no hitches thus far, great attitudes and hearts. We're sad, and yet excited and so very touched. But, we're also really tired. It's after midnight and last night's blog entry left me with four hours of sleep. I need more, so I can not give you as much right now. So, here is an abbreviated entry.

I realized today that we have not been entirely truthful over the past few days. We had planned a fairly typical mission trip VBS program. Break the kids up into different ages, have three or four workers in each, let them do the entire program, blah, blah, blah. But, we have not done that this time. The reason was because again, nothing survives first contact with reality.

We arrived at camp #14 - the older kids - and were told the ages of the kids were different than we had been told. So, we had to break our four static groups into three rotating groups. Because they had such good facilities, the sports rotation was always on the soccer field, the Bible study either outside (weather permitting) or in the chow hall, and the crafts were at a couple of pavilions and pic-nic tables. Each met for 40 minutes and then switched.

I know, I know - 40 minutes of Bible study for kids? Am I crazy? Yes, I am, but let me say this - it worked. Within the Bible study time, we had a number of activities to keep the lesson going. The sports always worked and they ate the crafts up. T-shirt painting, hair & nails for the girls, leathercrafts, frisbee decorating, etc. The kids loved it! We arrived at the camp at 10:30 (it's about 1 1/2 to 2 hours away from the hotel) and only had until 2pm (their lunch time).

So, everyday, every team member did all three things - Bible study, sports, and crafts. One of the greatest unintended results of this was the closeness between us and the kids. The director at #14 said he had never seen the kids get so bonded so fast! God is so good! Through an unintended change, God brought us all closer together.

After lunch, which was at yet another camp, but without any kids that we worked with, we would head to camp #40, but not without a great meal (it really was) and a brief devotion. We would meet on an unused soccer field and sit on the old wooden bleachers and re-charge.

When we arrived at camp 40, the kids were always still inside. We set the puppet stage up on a playground ... something that made a great puppet stage. I wish you could all see the kids react to the puppets. They would squirm and shreak and clap and it was so sweet and tender. These kids really loved the playfulness of the puppets. We had been able to get some Christian puppet skits, in Russian, and we used an Mp3 player to play them, so the kids could understand the skits. Afterwards, we would head into the areas of each age group (we were broken into four groups that only mixed at the beginning) and work with the kids.

Crayons, markers, hats, shirts, tambourines, all manner of things were made by these kids. But, they always opened with a Bible story. We had taken the Bible story, gotten permission from the publisher of a children's Bible to enlarge the Bible stories we wanted. We made enlarged color copies and changed the words from Russian to English and then laminated them. Now, they can be used over and over by the Buckner leaders that are there!

The only time this was not true was with the more challenged children. I say challenged because honestly, after the first day, we all thought they were angels. Very active angels, but angles none-the-less. With them, we just loved. Played and loved. At one point, several of us found ourselves sitting in these little chairs, all in a row, all humming songs with the children who had adopted us.

After camp 40, we would make the 90 minute or tow hour drive to dinner, and then back to the hotel for de-brief, then a shower, then bed.

I will post some more tomorrow, but I wanted you all to hear what we have been doing. You'll hear more if you are at the reflection service in a couple of Sundays so I don't wan to share too much more.

Keep checking the blog and we'll be home soon!

If tomorrow never comes

I don't even like country music, but I can't get this song out of my head. I don't know the story of the song, (I don’t even like country music, and frankly find it to be an oxymoron) but the song seems to fit the mood, or at least, it will tomorrow.

I tried to warn the team. I told them of the pain involved – the challenges that they would face, but they did not listen and came to Russia anyway. Praise God. I told them that it would happen to most of them, if not all of them – that it would hurt. That it would change them. I’m talking about love. I’m talking about loving today and lamenting tomorrow.

Now, no one misses their family more than I. Maybe to the same degree, but that’s it. I miss my wife and son. But, if teleportation were possible, I’d use it tomorrow. I'd hit the button and be in my wife's arms by lunch time! It’s the last day at the camps. But, it does not exist and I'm here till God's done with us.

You see, tomorrow's the last day with the kids. It’s also the last day we’ll have a part of our hearts. It’s been an exhausting week of giving and taking. Up at 6:30, down after midnight. On your feet all day, on your back as soon as you hit your room - that is, after a brief walk and a potato (make that sauerkraut) filled pastry.

But if I could avoid tomorrow, I would. If I could wish it away, I would. Oh, I’d take all the days I could get at the orphanage, but saying goodbye to the kids does not hurt as much as it removes. Everyone, and I mean everyone has fallen in love with these children. Young and old, cute and slobbery – we have traded a portion of our hearts in order to love and be loved.

The older kids have opened their hearts to us, and us them. We have been captured by their actions and smiles, and their words. We don’t share much in common, but we do share some kind of humanity and the handprint that God leaves on every creation. They are creations of a divine, clever, and gracious God. They are the children of a people whom we used to call our enemy. They are beautiful.

And the younger children have left us breathless. Every lick, (yes, they lick, and yes you'd love it to) every hug, every leap, every everything makes you smile and love. These are kids with every disorder imaginable: down syndrome, fetal alcohol syndrome, CP, and so much more and all the attending problems that come with these challenges. But, they all have smiles. Great big ones and they squeal and clap when they see the puppets, and they chase you around wanting to be held, and you laugh when they jump on you and they laugh when you tell them not to dig through your pockets, and they smile when you leave and you cry when you walk away and you love it. They re amazing. They are God's chosen vessels to communicate grace and you are His chosen vessels to communicate love and when these two heavenly aspects meet, then the wind blows and the sun shines because the earth seems to somehow react to God's smile.

But, please pray for us tomorrow. From 1:30am Texas time until 9am Texas time, we will be with the kids in heart and soul. We will teach, play, and talk with them. We will love them and they will love us. We will embrace them and they us. It will be a hard day of goodbyes - of wondering what will happen to them. It will be a day of celebrating the fact that no one is an orphan who chooses to follow Christ and we will spend considerable time communicating this in all that we do.

Tomorrow is the last day of scattering seed, but the first day of a brand new harvest. Pray that the kids will see Christ for who He is, and will recognize the love that is there in Jesus and will turn their face towards Him. Pray that we'll be able to work through the tears and the joy. Just pray.

The week has been remarkable. The compliments from the stateside Buckner personnel and the workers at the camps have been gracious and encouraging. The director of the older camp recognized that the kids bonded with us very quickly and that they are usually not those kinds of kids, but you know what? He is that kind of God.