Romance and Fundraising

Come with me. Do you trust me? Do you believe that I am enough and that I am faithful?

As I prayed through the weeks leading up to the acceptance of my invitation to teach with Teach Overseas, this is was my resounding response. Though the Lord had been speaking that to me prior to this opportunity, every time I prayed about this trip, this is what drowned out my words.

And so I embarked on this adventure. This adventure that is so covered in his fingerprints that it left me speechless when I first tried to write my initial support letter. This adventure that I cannot camouflage as anything other than by, for, and about HIM. Being assured of this, I was not actively concerned about support-raising. Scared, most definitely. But not worried about this falling through in any way, shape, or form. I had expected to be thrilled as I walked with HIM in this; eager to discover his faithfulness. What I had not expected, however, was to be romanced by him.

This has been the hardest thing I have ever had to do, from stepping back from grad school to sending my family support letters. It requires me to be steadfast in my trust in HIM. It forces me to proclaim his Lordship over every aspect of my life. It has been something of a refining flame, bringing the impurities and areas of brokenness to the surface to be burned away. But he has been faithful to me in my times of angst and frustration, speaking words of encouragement over me through scripture, in prayer, through others. The beauty of knowing that I am at the center of HIS will for my life, seeing the road behind me and seeing the horizon just ahead knowing that HE has laid and walked every mile of it (even if I had taken a detour in the barren fields), is beyond comparison.

Two weeks or so ago, I got an email from a couple who are friends of mine and were potential donors. Our communication, on both ends, had been kind of spotty, leaving me feeling somewhat uneasy and guilty. I was out shopping, irritated that I could not find jeans in my size and that my dad was not calling me back about birthday plans for that evening, when my phone alerted me that I had an email from them. I was not in the mood to sort through fund-raising logistics at that moment in time, so I waited to read it until I got home. Wise choice. I logged into my email account to find a gentle reply that said that they wanted to support me financially with a gift that far exceeded what I had asked for. They noted that they “felt like the Lord was asking us to give this amount so He could encourage you that this trip is of Him and he wants you to go and trust Him.” I was floored. As if I had needed any more proof and encouragement! It was like He had shown up at my doorstep with flowers for no other reason than to see me smile. Like he had taken me out to my favorite restaurant for my birthday, but it wasn’t enough; he had to give me flowers the next day just so he could see me smile again. It took me until the next evening to find the right words to give back to Him, and even then, I had to repeat them because I couldn’t find any others.

This has always been about trusting HIM to lead, about discovering more of myself and discovering more of him. But I never thought it would be about love.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep

I cannot describe to you the pull on my heart that Russia has. I barely understand it myself--I've never dreamed of traveling to another country (except for maybe Ireland or Eygpt in my daydreams of perfect anniversary trips with my equally perfect and imaginary husband).

But somehow, I read about Russia in Operation World, and I sense this deeply beautiful, yet deeply wounded and despairing country. The abuse of political power, the prevalence of alcoholism and addiction show my heart a picture of a people crying out in despair, searching for something, anything to make the darkness stop its invasion. It is a country in agony and frustration. It is a cry that my heart longs to give ear to, to come alongside, to comfort. I know that my own fear of leaving my safe world of chemicals and textbooks, of immersing myself in a another culture, of being found lacking prevents my whole body and mind from understanding this pull; I know I'm digging my heels into the ground, but the swelling of my heart that registers just below an ache is undeniable.

One Heart is Enough

The One I know, who sought solace on mountaintops, who healed lepers and looked into the eyes of a Samaritan woman, who was betrayed by his best friends to death on a cross, doesn't just care about the unreached people groups in Indonesia or the aids orphans in Africa. He also desperately cares for the hearts left damaged by infrastructures our fellow human beings have made, and they exist here in America, but they also exist in Russia. For this reason, I want to teach in Russia, to see that damage, and to do what I can to bring a little hope to that country. I may only impact one student, but that is still one student, one heart impacted. My G*d became flesh and dwelled among us and died a criminal’s death on tree to win my heart. One heart was enough for him. One heart is enough for me.