I awake on the narrow, hard bench to the swaying of the train and sound of wheels clacking on the tracks below. Cold seeps in from the window beside me – first light creeps over the horizon.
I’m not usually awake – or if I am, I’m definitely not happy about it – before sunrise. No one has ever accused me of being a morning person.
But this morning, I was surprisingly alert for 5:30 am.
We were riding parallel to the eastern horizon, and I had a front row seat to the sunrise.
I sat, waiting in eager expectation.
Understand that I’m from West Texas – the flat, rolling plans and giant sky boast some of the best sunrises (and sunsets) the world can offer. Many times as I child I would marvel that the sky seemed like a giant bowl placed overhead, ever- changing and ever-present – full of spectacular views. I’ve seen my share of glorious sunrises.
I couldn’t wait to see my first sunrise in Eastern Europe … or in the Eastern Hemisphere, for that matter. The minutes ticked by, and I grew impatient.
Why wasn’t something happening?
I grumpily turned away from the window. “If the sunrise won’t come out, well, then, FINE, I’ll just get some much-needed sleep!” I thought irrationally.
I tried to sleep, but I could’t shake this feeling … at any moment, I was missing the grand moment; the crescendo; the bursting forth of color I craved. So I gave in and turned round again, nose pressed to the glass like a child.
While waiting, it … slowly … dawned on me … sun was rising – just very, very gradually. The velvety purple horizon was now tinged sort of orangey, though it was still only a thin band, low across the sky. Inch by inch, fingers of gentle light touched fields of wheat until they were dappled in early morning sunshine. A lazy, hazy sun made it’s slow ascent upon the world.
And a new day in Moldova began.
When I realized there would be no grand crescendo, I felt a little disappointed. Ethnocentricity emerged in full force. “Well! Just another reason Texas is better than any other place in the world,” I thought haughtily. I was a little sulky; after all that expectation, the sunrise was so … unremarkable. No fireworks. No shooting rays of glorious color – nothing to inspire a painter.
Then, the Lord gently showed me that this slow sunrise is a reflection of how the knowledge of Christ is advancing in Eastern Europe. Here, things are dark – people grope blindly for their life purpose, for some sense of joy, for meaning and alleviation from the pain.
Everything, everyone is like concrete – cold, gray, crumbling – after years of neglect and abuse.
Moldova – and this area of the world – has seen it’s share of heartache.
Frequently oppressed by an endless list of conquerers and regimes.
Forgotten by the civilized world.
Remembering the deaths of millions during Stalin’s calculated slaughter.
Struggling under near-impossible economic conditions.
Recovering from years under a failed communist system.
And the orthodox church – peddled as a panacea – is largely a tradition-based religious system that teaches you pay a priest to atone for sins, and Jesus is just a carved idol to decorate your home.
Yes, Moldavians know heartache.
It’s easy here for Moldavian believers and missionaries alike to grumpily refuse to see the light. Yet as surely as the sun rises, God’s kingdom is coming – enlightening – advancing! It’s a quiet crescendo, and it you don’t look close enough, you just might miss it.
• Nadia repented and started a relationship with Jesus last week – after talking with the pastor’s wife for many days on end. Jesus is her newest friend.
• Tartos, an Armenian emigrant, is being raised up as a leader at his local church. He is on fire for the Lord.
• Tamara’s husband finally reached a turning point in the vicious spousal abuse cycle he learned from his father.
• Several pastors gathered this month to brainstorm how they can meet the needs of local unchurched children.
• Olga, a joyful elderly woman, hands out New Testaments at the train station and speaks to anyone who will listen about the happiness she’s found.
• … And two of the brightest spots in Moldova (in my biased opinion) – Eric and Maric (the pastors' small sons we shared a home with this month) are changing the world even as children. They're raised in a home where Jesus is central. Their parents cherish them and tell them they can change their country for the Lord. Their parents choose to stay in this hard, stone-cold country becuase they know what it is to live a calling.
Andrei and Larissa Luca give everything they have, every day – in the hope that another person will come to know the warmth and light of the Son.
The sun also rises in Moldova. And it’s as beautiful as any view I’ve ever seen.
Andrei and Larissa Luca and baby Maric
