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!