A Family Mission
It has to be one of the most lifeimpacting parenting decisions my father and mother ever made. While most of the civilized world was preparing for the onslaught of Y2K, my parents led us in preparing for our first mission trip to the Former Soviet Union. January of the year 2000 marked the month that our family of five set off on what would be the first of many lifechanging adventures to that part of the world.
Ours was a mixed team. We joined several homeschool families and other adults to form the first ever “homeschool bus” in the history of Global Aid Network (then called Operation Carelift). It all started with a letter that arrived in our home from David Quine of Cornerstone Curriculum. He was recruiting people for this family-friendly mission opportunity his family had discovered. That letter filled us with apprehension, but no one threw it out. I thank my parents for responding and stepping out of their comfort zones to take us on this short-term mission trip. Our family was transformed as we sought to share the love of Christ among a hurting people.
My eyes were being opened to the life-changing power of my God and the depth of what He means to people with so little. Would I ever be the same again?
Nothing could have prepared us for the rich but hurting culture we were to encounter. The beauty and wealth of the Moscow Kremlin and the Hermitage in Saint Petersburg were unlike anything we had ever seen. I marvelled at encountering my first real Rembrandt and thrilled at traveling the path of Napoleon. But our real purpose for being in the country went beyond the magnificent sights, educational as they were.
Our bus took us to another part of Russia less visited. Traveling the snowy winter landscape, our group went from place to place delivering humanitarian aid along with a message of hope for the hopeless. We went into multiple orphanages, public schools, street ministry sites, and even hospitals. In those places we met abandoned children, their weary caregivers, and the sick. This journey to a land of contrasts was about to leave its deep mark upon our lives.
Every day we visited two of these sites, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. Though every visit was different, there was a typical pattern. Upon our arrival at an orphanage, we might be treated to a program by the children or be served tea. Then we would divide up—usually with our family intact as a team—to interact with a small group of children. That’s when we had time to share our lives, our faith, and the gospel.
Our visits were a holiday for the children, and we wondered that it could be such a big deal. We weren’t flashy. Yet these children had nothing materially and even less spiritually and emotionally. It was indescribable to walk into a place and hear the little children call us “mama” and “papa.” I even saw a grown boy cling to my dad’s hand as they walked together. For a fleeting, moment that boy had a daddy.
The majority of these children have living parents, but the kids have been abandoned or taken from them by the government. “Social orphans,” they are called. We learned that their parents’ lives are consumed by drugs and alcohol, making them as good as dead. Sadly, drugs, alcohol, suicide, crime, homelessness, and prostitution are the only future awaiting many of the children upon their “graduation” from the orphanage. The scars run deep, but they accepted us and our message of a heavenly Father.
It didn’t take long to fall in love with the Russian and Belarusian people who welcomed us with such fanfare. Picture nervous children dressed in national costume standing solemnly in the falling snow outside an orphanage. The privileged one extends the traditional bread and salt greeting to our group while the others motion us inside. Imagine school auditoriums vibrating with the excitement of presenting lively programs for the visiting Americans. Taste the flavorful soups, rich poppy-seed filled rolls, and labor-intensive, home-preserved vegetables served in an orphanage or village home. My heart is about full to bursting just reliving those memories.
Something larger was going on than just a cultural exchange. I marveled at the faith of a poor Christian woman as we sat in her apartment lit by a lone, bare light bulb. She served tea in a collection of broken, mismatched cups and sat at the piano to sing an anthem of praise. Another woman, a cook at an orphanage, begged for a Bible, and a group of former street kids challenged us with their vibrant faith lived out in the midst of difficulty. Church members displayed the meaning of sacrificial living through their ongoing ministries. My eyes were being opened to the life-changing power of my God and the depth of what He means to people with so little. Would I ever be the same again?
The first room our family entered to share the gospel was at a sanatorium for children suffering the effects of the Chernobyl disaster. Their peaked faces followed our every move intently. At one school, little blind girls and boys soaked up all the love and attention we could give them. Sick children and worried parents wondered at us coming into their bleak hospital surroundings. There were the thousands of orphans too. Our hearts could have broken at all we saw. Yet each of these visits was an opportunity to share the message of Christ.
This act of speaking up with the gospel was scary at first. We were far out of our comfort zone whether it was visiting with an individual or sharing with a roomful of children. Working through an interpreter had its challenges, too. Thankfully, what began as a scary task began to grow on us, and soon we rejoiced in the message and spoke with new boldness as we relied upon the Lord. What happened to the shy, quiet girls and their nervous parents who had embarked on this trip? We had hoped to see lives changed but found our own transformed in the process.
We went home after a couple weeks, but nothing was the same. American life had become frivolous during our absence, and we couldn’t stomach it. There was a new, burning desire within each in our family to continue sharing hope through some type of ministry. That trip was just the beginning.
We have returned to that part of the world five times, and our ministry has continued from home. Cross-country trips have been made to help pack aid at the Pennsylvania warehouse. An extensive Siberian prison ministry has evolved that includes volumes of correspondence back and forth through an interpreter. Letters are written to children and teachers as well. We’ve been privileged from afar to join our Siberian brothers and sisters in constructing a new building for worship and outreach. This entire cross-cultural ministry has given us new courage to reach out in our own community as well as to other parts of the world. What began as one shortterm trip has turned into a long-term family mission.
Our passion for ministry has an additional facet extending beyond the opportunities for personal growth and the carrying out of the gospel mandate. The fact that we made the journey as a family was of key importance. The outcome could have been so different. My parents could have sent my sisters This act of speaking up with the gospel was scary at first. We were far out of our comfort zone whether it was visiting with an individual or sharing with a roomful of children. and me off with our peers on mission trips, but where would we be now? I am afraid we would have come home fresh with the wonder of what God had done, but it would have died with no one to nurture the growth. We are blessed to have ministered together.
Those first days on foreign soil were traumatic. On top of jet lag, we were dealing with bleak surroundings, unfamiliar foods, and new, stretching experiences. Despite their own struggles with culture shock, our parents were able to surround us with comfort and encouragement. There were many circumstances that led our family to turn to our heavenly Father in prayer, including news of the death of a loved one back home. We needed each other.
If my sisters and I had traveled with a team of teenagers, we would have missed out on learning not only from our parents but also from the other mission participants, ages 10 to 80. Through sharing Christ together, we developed lifelong friendships, and each member of my family has discovered strong, Christian role models who continue to challenge and encourage us in our daily walk.
Because we have traveled as a family, our ministry has had a unique impact on others as well. We have each found different age groups with whom to connect as we visit the ministry sites and make acquaintances. For instance, the older women love our mom and come to her with kisses and gifts of fresh picked berries from their gardens in summer. Dad gains a following with his digital camera and photo printer. Hannah quickly befriends the music teachers and musical performers as well as the little boys interested in cars. Elsa always attracts a young child or teenage girl. I connect with the teachers. Each member of the family has a niche to fill.
Something else we learned is that a family catches the attention of a people who hardly know what a family is. Divorce wreaks unbelievable havoc to the family in the countries of the former Soviet Union. They are an empty people searching for meaningful relationships. As they observe and ask questions, we are able to introduce them to the heavenly Father, who has a place for them in His family.
Dima was a young man who had a dual purpose in hanging around our group. He wanted to be near his girlfriend who was serving as one of our interpreters, and he wanted to improve his English. God’s purpose was much bigger than either of those. When snubbed by his girlfriend, he turned to my father and our family for comradery. He joined us in playing with little children, served as our tour guide around historic Smolensk, and laughed with us when trying to interpret an order for ice cream. Yet we were not on the same page. Dima flatly stated that he could not believe in the existence of God. We said good-bye to him with heavy hearts.
Back at home an email arrived from Dima. Was the love among our family real, he wondered? He had never before seen an intact family with father, mother, and children.
Since that time God has brought about an amazing change in Dima’s life. He and his girlfriend both came to Christ and were married. Today Dima is a pastor, and he and his wife are seeking to raise their children in the Lord. Who would have thought that the family unit could be the vehicle to reflect the love of God to a staunch atheist?
My parents can attest to the financial sacrifice involved. They can tell how money saved to re-shingle the roof and to buy new furniture and more reliable vehicles has long ago been spent on Russia trips, and we can all testify to the rarity of eating a meal out. But can a dollar amount be put on the miracle that took place in Dima or on the hope that has been delivered to others just as lonely as he? Can a price tag be attached to the pleasure we have in serving God together as a family? We wouldn’t trade any of these riches for material gain. After all, we have seen firsthand the joy that those with so little can have when their lives are founded on Christ.
I dream of following my parents’ example by some day bringing my own children on a “start-up mission” like our first one turned out to be. But in the meantime, the work must continue. There is an empty, lost world needing what we have to offer. Will your family join us?