Sunday, March 17, 2013

Antioch - Finding Myself at Home

The dorms emptied out as students traveled home for the weekend.  Silence strung from the halls like pendants forgotten by the wind.  It was an average Saturday morning in Kokernot Hall.


Gathering my laundry, a small pan, bread and an egg, I expertly balanced the load on my way to the basement.  Laundry sorted and deposited in quarter-fed machines, I popped the bread in the toaster and went about making myself an egg sandwich.

About the time I had placed egg between toast, a familiar face appeared around the corner.  Heather, the RA from the third floor, was also on a breakfast mission.  When she had prepared her meal she invited me up to her room to hang out.

Being an introvert and a bookworm, I didn’t get out of my dorm much freshman year.  The RA on my hall didn’t seem to stick around many weekends, so Heather took me in as one of her hall kids.  I often found myself drinking tea and chatting away a Saturday morning with this outgoing junior in her beautiful loft room.

Conversations with Heather ranged from processing the oddities of southern culture (we were both Yankees) to my search for a good church.  

"What do you want to be when you 'grow up'?" she asked.  To answer her question I shared about my experience two years prior in Russia, and my hopes of serving there in the future.

“You need to meet my friend, Michele Perry,” Heather encouraged me.  “She is serving as a missionary in Bangladesh right now, but will be back this spring.”

Heather shared stories of this passionate young woman who loved God and would go anywhere to make Him known, regardless of being born without her left leg.  The more I heard about this awe-inspiring woman, the more I wanted to meet her.

Christmas vacation eventually came and passed.  A week into my second semester I went upstairs to Heather’s room to catch up.  Oh, how disappointed I was to discover that Heather had not returned for the spring semester!  I would dearly miss this precious young woman and our Saturday talks.  And now how was I to find her friend?  The young missionary’s name had slipped from my memory over Christmas vacation.

God is good at working out those kinds of details.

My spring semester schedule included an environmental studies class that met twice a week on the opposite end of campus, a good 20-minute walk from Kokernot Hall.  The first day my class gathered at the environmental studies building, I noticed a girl come into the room walking with the aid of crutches, missing her left leg.  Could this be the missionary Heather had told me about?

Winters in Waco are not what I would have called ‘cold’, at least not my first year out of the north.  They are, however, often wet, with a mist-like rain that cuts through every layer you are wearing.  A few weeks into the semester the weather was especially foul. 

I had just recently introduced myself to Michele, and she was, in fact, Heather’s friend.  Michele drove to class and that day watching my futile attempts to dodge the miniscule raindrops she offered me a ride home.  I readily took her up on the offer, both thankful for a warm ride back to campus and for an opportunity to get to hear Michele’s stories from southeast Asia.

“You see, Carrie, God knew He was going to planning to take me to places like India and Bangladesh.” Michele explained as she blasted the heater in an attempt to dry the icy moisture out of our clothing.  “That is why He chose for me to be born in Florida.”

Michele’s personality certainly was sunny enough to be from Florida!  Her joy warmed both the car and her passenger, defying the gray mist falling outside.

“I’m from Minnesota,” I replied, “so I don’t really mind the cold too much.”

“Well, God must have made you for Siberia!” she declared.

I burst into astonished giggles.  This girl didn’t know me from Adam, but she jokingly had declared that God must be planning to send me to the one place on earth I most hoped He would.

Michele offered to take me to another part of campus to get coffee and to share stories.  Not having another class until much later that day I eagerly accepted her offer.

Sipping on something warm, Michele shared stories about her time in Bangladesh.  In the middle of her tales, she asked if I was doing anything the next weekend, and would I like to join her for a missions conference.  Absolutely!

A week later, Michele drove me half an hour north to Latham Springs Campground for World Mandate 1998.  I had never been surrounded by so many people my own age who wanted nothing less than to make Jesus famous around the world.  There had to be nearly 200 of us!  The weekend flew by as missionary after missionary shared stories from around the globe, and as Highland Baptist’s young college minister, Jimmy Seibert, filled us with vision to join these sold-out laborers in unreached corners of our planet.

I felt at home and wished the weekend could stretch into weeks.  Soon, I discovered that the college ministry that put on World Mandate also ran a mission trip to Juarez, Mexico every spring.  I had not yet made plans for spring break and already knew I liked mission trips so I didn’t need any convincing.  I showed up at the first training for the trip a couple weeks later, and soon found myself a part of this beautiful college ministry with a strong heart for the nations.  A couple years later Highland Baptist Church birthed Antioch Community Church.  This church home has become for me a precious family of like-minded lovers of God who are making Jesus famous as He is worthy of all over the planet.

{I don't seem to have pics of Michele or any of the early Mandates, but here are some Juarez photos for any who want to reminisce. Enjoy!}
Juarez, Mexico

Can you see me? Juarez Team - 1999

Dance team - Juarez, Mexico - 2004

Worship at the Cathedral - Juarez, Mexico - 2004

Grad school Lifegroup - Juarez, Mexico - 2004

Juarez, Mexico - 2005

Tsagaan Sar and the Beginning of the Adventure


Monday afternoon, February 11, 2013.  Mountain peaks waved at us through an undercast sky as I strained to look past the shy, Korean teen seated next to me.  As we broke through the clouds I hoped to catch a glimpse of my new home.  Occasionally she would pull away and allow me a glance as rectangular buildings and white dots of gers filled the edges of the valley.

Ten minutes later I pulled backpack over thick, Russian coat, and dragged an overly-stuffed carry-on behind me as stewardesses wished me a good day in Korean.  Cold leaked around the edge of the jetway.  After my passport had been stamped and two bags and a box were loaded onto a cart, I found my way to the lobby of the tiny international airport.

My teammates, Josh and Sagana, and their 4-year old daughter appeared through the doorway just as I was extracting my winter boots from one of my suitcases.  They helped me grab my luggage and we cut through the near zero (F) winter air and loaded into their car. 

“Happy Tsagaan Sar!” I was reminded again by my teammates that I had arrived on the first day of the Mongolian New Year.  “Are you up for an adventure?”

Absolutely! 

Rather than driving east into town, we headed northwest to a ‘suburb’ of Ulaanbaatar.  And less than an hour after arriving in Mongolia I found myself stepping through the colorful doorway of a precious elderly woman’s ger – the traditional Mongolian felt home, complete with wood-burning stove.

Visiting a ger - Mongolian home.
“Be sure not to step on the lentil.  Try not to point your feet at the fire,” Josh instructed. “And do not walk between the two support beams in the center of the ger.”

I was then taught the traditional greeting for Tsaagan Sar: Ahmar ban oh? (Амар байна уу?) - meaning 'Are you peaceful?'  Placing my arms under the arms of the head of the home, the precious wrinkled face bent in to sniff me, first on my left and then on my right.

After the formal greetings we were instructed to sit down around a table.  The feast laying before us consisted of an entire steamed sheep’s back, a tower of cookies, and various bowls and plates of side dishes and candy.  I was handed a bowl of some type of yogurt or buttery milk and drank a sip before passing it along to the others. 

My first Tsagaan Sar feast.
Soon we were joined by another couple who also greeted the owner of the home, and then each of us.  These two sat at the head of the table as honored guests, because of their advanced years. Thankfully, these visitors had lived in the States for a number of years and both spoke English fluently.

The homeowner, all this while, was busy adding wood to the fire, placing a giant pot on the stove, and then loading a sieve of some kind with frozen buuz, the traditional meat-filled dumpling of Mongolia.  As I watched her work, Sagana informed me that many families will prepare and freeze around 1,000 buuz in preparation for Tsagaan Sar.  After loading the steaming basket into the giant pot and placing the cover on top, our hostess set a large rock and a solid iron axe on top of the whole assembly.  The weight of these two objects would press the lid down, trapping steam to cook the buuz

Cooking buuz - delicious Mongolian dumplings.

Yes, that is an axe on the lid of the pot.

Perhaps 20 or 30 minutes later, off came the axe, the stone, and the lid.  Dishes were heaped with steaming-hot dumplings and the plates passed around the table.  After her guests seemed sated on buuz, our hostess sat down on the edge of her bed and dug around for a few moments in a pile next to her.  Then she was up on her feet again to present a gift to each one of her guests.  With surprise and joy I received a brightly colored pair of socks and a bar of chocolate, while Hope showed off her new mittens – the kind that has a string that hold them together through the arms of your coat.

Buuz.

New mittens!
After saying goodbye in no particularly formal way, we piled back into the car in the now starry evening.  We would visit two more homes, both in town, to repeat the same traditional greetings, the tasting of yogurt, milk tea, mutton and buuz.  At the final home I was even treated to my first taste of airag – traditional Mongolian fermented mare’s milk.  I actually liked it!  Each visit ended the same way.  Eat buuz, receive a gift from the host (one should always show delight and surprise by the gift!), and then bundle up in scarf, hat, gloves, boots and winter coat, thank the host and out into the chill of -20 degrees Fahrenheit night.

By the third and final day of Tsagaan Sar I had visited seven homes, had my left and right ear sniffed by many friendly faces, eaten more buuz than I could have imagined, and received everything from a cute shopping bag to gloves to about the equivalent of 5 dollars in Turigs (the local currency).  What a welcome!

Ahmar ban oh?  Are you peaceful?  I pray you know the presence of the One who came to restore peace between the Father and His children.  And that the people of the steppe will soon know His peace as well.

Enjoy the long awaited photos!

Sweet little one who let me hold him for most of my visit.
Serving the fat-tailed sheep.
Trying on a deel - traditional Mongolian outfit.

With neighbor friends visiting Sagana's beautiful mother.
Another feast!

Saturday, February 9, 2013

When Dreams take Flight


Today feels like a dream to me.  One moment I am in awe that I am about to board a one-way flight to Asia.  The next I am convinced this may just be a short-term trip and that I’ll return to Dallas in a few weeks. Mostly, I am just tired. Four hours of sleep in the past forty-eight makes for a sleepy Carrie who is looking forward to boarding this jet and curling up for a long in-flight nap.

My take away from this past few weeks of final preparations is simple and beautiful.  We are never launched into God’s dreams alone.  Our Lord is far too relational to just make His dreams about Him and me.  He is excited about making His Son famous both in the nations and in our own hearts.  And He does that through His own body.

Hands & Feet – a number of times this past couple weeks, a handful of friends have come by my home to help me finish packing and going through all of my belongings. I could not have gotten out the door without each of their joyful, willing help.

Words – from teachings to encouragements to notes, I have been built up by my friends and family, near and far away.  The Love of God and His beautiful truth are flooding my soul via the conduit of His Bride!

Covering – I KNOW I am being prayed for.  I heard it in my Oaks’ children’s prayers for me last Sunday.  I can tell by the peace that surrounds me.  Encouragement has seeped into my soul and I am confident I am going to be remembered by my friends and family State-side.

Finances – From pennies and nickels collected by our Antioch children to generous gifts from those I know are living on a ‘creative’ budget, to the ones who are joyfully sharing from the place of abundance, every one of my financial supporters reflect God’s love and care for me and for the ones He is calling us to serve.

It feels to me that everyone who is giving and-or praying for me is going with me.  I do not feel alone!  We are all going out the door this afternoon – into an adventure of making Jesus famous across Asia.

Thank you, all, for being part of Abba’s beautiful dream!  You are my partners in the Gospel.  Students will know Him and make Him known.  Children will call Him Daddy.  Families will find hope in Him.  Villages will be transformed.  Nations will be changed.  And Jesus will be famous, just like He is worthy of!

In 48 hours I will be home in a new land.  You are my neighbor and friend, my brother and sister on this journey.  Who will we meet?  Who will we love together?  Who will we serve?  What will we learn?  I cannot wait to find out!

For His glory!  For their joy and ours!

Saturday, January 12, 2013

Yield Signs - Part 2


Large snowflakes floated sleepily outside the library window as I wrote away in a new journal.  Each page captured memories and ideas in ink as I reminisced on the previous four years and dreamed about the future.  My bachelor's program had stretched into a fifth year as I combined degrees in geology and Slavic studies.  My college experience had been marvelous, and I had loved every bit, that was until the spring of 2001.  An upper level math course and a graduate level geology course pushed me to the brink of my capabilities, and though I exerted a commendable effort in both, I barely scraped by with two passing grades.  Thankfully, the following semester offered a reprieve.  As part of the Slavic studies degree I was now attending a university in Voronezh, Russia through an exchange program.

Christmas break found me visiting friends in Berlin, and I spent a couple days of my vacation asking Abba about His plans for me for the next year.  Well, asking wouldn't be exactly the right word.  I was actually telling the Lord what I planned to do following graduation in May.  I intended to attend a missions training school with my church, and then go... um... somewhere.  Probably somewhere in the former Soviet Union.  I wanted to join Lifewater, a water relief group and apply my two degrees simultaneously, helping villages obtain a safe drinking water source while sharing the good news of Jesus and starting churches across the Central Asian steppe.  I was ready!  It was time!  I was burnt out with school and had waited 'long enough'.  And my little, weary soul wished to discuss no alternatives.

The Lord's beautiful, familiar voice sounded crest-fallen as He responded to my declaration.  He didn't tell me 'no', I suppose because I wasn't looking for His permission to embark on this adventure.  Instead, He simply shared with me some of the wonderful things and some of the harder things that lay ahead of me on the road I was choosing.  That is, choosing without Him.  Since the early days when I had first learned to hear God's voice, I had grown accustomed to running all of my plans by Him.  I never purposefully avoided asking the Lord what He wanted me to do, especially when it came to important life decisions.  Now I discovered what happened in our relationship when I cut Him out of the decision making process.  I broke His heart.

My worn out soul flinched, but then regrouped and grew harder.  I didn't care what He had to say about it or how He felt.  I already had an idea of what Abba really wanted for me, and it was the last thing I wanted to consider.  So I dug in my heels and intended not to budge.

Returning to the States in January I eventually found myself in conversation with my hydrogeology professor, Dr. Joe Yelderman.  We were discussing my plans following graduation.  I shared with Dr. Joe how I hoped to join a water relief organization as a missionary.  This particular professor is a true lover of Jesus and was immediately supportive of my direction.  He shared with me that two of his former students had gone overseas to do the same type of work, supplying villages with safe drinking water.  Then the question I had been internally dodging was posed.  Had I considered obtaining a master's degree in hydrogeology?  Both of these former students discovered that effectively helping people obtain access to clean water meant they needed more of a knowledge base than they had obtained in their bachelor courses.  I cringed inside. 

Politely I replied that I had not yet considered this path and that I hoped to get to the mission field within the next year or two.  Dr. Joe then wisely advised me to contact the organization that I wished to join to ask them what kind of course work I would need to best help them, and concluded by encouraging me to pray about it before making any decisions.

Ugh.  I had purposefully been avoiding praying about this subject.  But Dr. Yelderman's words rang with wisdom.  What could it hurt to contact Lifewater and ask them if my current course work gave me enough background to help them with their mission overseas?

The next day I sent an email to Lifewater International.  Lifewater specializes in training teams in developing nations how to provide clean water for villages coupled with training in hygiene and sanitation.  Proudly, I listed out geology course work that I thought applicable and shared with them my heart to join their work.  The very next day I had received a reply.  They were thankful for my interest: did I know how to choose a location for a well to be drilled?  If not, would I please consider continuing with my studies and obtaining a master's degree?

Wow.  Nope.  I had no idea how to set a well.  I actually had never drilled one before.  My arrogance and pride dissolved with the realization that I really didn't know all that much, even after 5 years of college.

"Abba, I guess I'm ready to talk about grad school.  I am sorry I have refused to talk with You about it up till now."

Oh, our God is so good!  He truly is kind, compassionate and quick to forgive!  Suddenly the Lord was washing me with the truth that He wanted to help me get through grad school and that He would teach me wonderful things during my master's program.  He was excited for me!  It wasn't going to be as hard as the previous year.  And I was actually going to enjoy it!

Truly, my three years of graduate studies far surpassed my undergraduate experience!  And God used the time to also draw me into the sweetest season I had experienced with Him up to that point.

The eight years God had spoken to me about so clearly freshman year turned out to be eight years of school to the month!  My dreams, though resting on God’s shelf that whole time, had grown into a beautiful future filled with more possibilities than I could have imagined coming into Baylor.  And my relationship with the Lord was far deeper and sweeter than when I had begun. 

Would He now send me to the nations? Or did He have another plan in mind?  Either way, the lesson had been learned and my soul knew that it could rest secure in the truth: His ways are so good and obedience is always worth it!