A young missionary, wife and mother learns life in a new home. Learn how to pray for all new missionaries as Becky tells you her story... Smiling Is Next To Godliness! . . . Right? When we moved to Russia, my husband and I promised ourselves we would never become those types of missionaries that ...
A young missionary, wife and mother learns life in a new home. Learn how to pray for all new missionaries as Becky tells you her story... Expect more One day, about a year after moving to Russia, I sat at the kitchen table with a friend who had come to visit. As my guest and I drank tea, my 4 year...
A young missionary, wife and mother learns life in a new home. Learn how to pray for all new missionaries as Becky tells you her story... Season’s Greetings I moved to Russia in the middle of January. My friends thought me brave (albeit a little nuts) to be traveling to one of the coldest countr...
| "GWB killed my sister..." |
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Pray for the People of Afghanistan - Journal of an American follower of Christ living among the Afghans... “GWB killed my sister…..” If you can’t get a conversation going, a taxi ride can be painful and long. This fellow was unusually quiet. No twenty questions, and no answers either. Had he guessed my nationality, and didn’t want to talk to an American? I tried everything. The weather -- nothing. Kabul traffic -- nothing. My war question: “Where were you during the war?” -- nothing. A barely audible sentence finally broke the silence. “George Bush (meaning the US military) killed my sister and her two children.” Whoa! Silence. Where do I go from here? I tried sympathy; an apology. More silence. I remember thinking how out of place the typical comment would be: “Well, that’s one of the realities of war.” Fortunately I didn’t know the Dari word for ‘realities’. Where is that comment appropriate, anyway? I got out of the cab reciting the customary “God be with you.” and his short sentence pounding in my head. I could only grieve for him and his family, and bemoan the fact of being American. Anger. It’s too hard. It’s all up hill. Why am I here? |
