Scene change occurred yesterday. One that I’ve been waiting for so impatiently! My inner OCD displayed flagrantly as I checked and checked and checked the Russian post tracking number as my package went from Moscow to NYC. Even when the information stopped displaying as my letter of invitation worked its way across the United States.
Just before I left for lunch yesterday the call from
reception came. “Kris, could you come
here a minute?”
And there it was. A Russian
package with my name on it and my official Letter of Invitation in it.
Suddenly it all became so real.
Up to that point, honestly, everything was done by faith
based on a phone call, some e-mails and a promise.
I am amazed, and very humbled, by the trust I feel placed on
me.
It’s funny, sort of, that I would be so taken aback by
it. I have invested in the same thing
time and again. I don’t even think twice
about giving to missionaries of all kinds.
I have encouraged them to stretch and live their dreams. I considered it a privilege to invest in the
countries of their calling through them.
Now people are investing in Russia through me and it’s
catching me off guard.
They can trust me, it’s true. I really am going to take what I’m given and
use it to do something good in a faraway place.
I really am going to Russia to teach children and share the goodness of
God with them and their families. I am
compelled to say that out loud as if to convince myself of a truth others see.
I expect to learn a lot, too. Much more than I expect to teach. Maybe that’s why I’m so humbled by the generosity of my
friends and co-workers. I don’t see
myself as someone with much to give. I
see my struggles, inadequacies, small-mindedness. I wear a mask of self-confidence always fearful it will slip and the audience will see the real me.
I spent some generous, quality time with my kids last
week-end. We had planned a trip for many
months and now that I’m heading over the ocean its importance was
magnified. Walking among the plane
displays of the EAA, I watched my kids playing like kids with my
grandkids. We laughed and smiled and
learned some things, too.
Later we were joined by others of my “kids” where the
laughing and playing continued. Another
milestone shared. I sat beside a graceful friend as we watched the city mouse
and country mouse story played across generations. Cultures blending in common understanding
that we’re all in this together.
One conversation in particular rings in my ears. “You’re an inspiration to us.” Said one young man whose life, unwittingly,
inspires mine. His friend nods in
complicity.
I? Inspire them? That’s crazy.
In the mirror I see a woman who has slowly, tortoislly, crawled from one
rung below poverty to one above and below and above and below over and
again. I see myself treading water in
seas of aloneness in waves of almost.
These young people around me, they inspire me. Their dedication to God and each other. Their steady moving forward beyond my
generation’s achievements. Their love
for ministry. Encompassing others, even
people like me, they give and take and grow. Their actions draw from me reactions propelling us both to reach farther.
This is what I love.
This Shakespearian replaying that all the world’s a stage and we are
merely players. Stage right and stage
left designed by a Master Director writing our life script.
Two more steps to get me from here to there. The visa.
The plane ticket.
I am excited to see what He has written into the next Act of
this play. Curious to see who will share
this stage with me and who is in my balcony.
So quickly and so slowly this scene unfolds.
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Author Kris A. Newman
