This is Part 1 of a 3 part series on my team’s time in Central Asia. This first part is a general overview of all that we’ve done since leaving Turkey, our ministry, and the unique experiences we’ve had here. In parts two and three I will give a more intimate glimpse of the triumphs, struggles, and cultural and spiritual lessons we’ve faced along the way.
First off, thank you to everyone who has supported me thus far in this adventure in ministry. Your prayers and donations have helped me and my team reach and serve amazing people whose needs for practical aid are great and whose need for the love of Christ is deep. Thanks to you, I am now only $691 away from being fully funded!
If you or anyone you know would like to help me reach my fundraising goal, the donate button toward the upper right corner of this page will direct you to a page where you can make a tax deductible donation online.
What follows is just a sample of some of the things your support has made possible.
Part One
If ministry in Morocco was a slow start, and Greece was a bit confused, and Turkey was a steady march forward, then the best way to describe my experience in Central Asia thus far would be to call it a whirlwind. From sharing testimonies in front of entire churches to teaching Sunday School, leading youth groups, visiting villages and helping with farm work, killing and butchering a lamb for dinner, hiking through mountains, and drinking fermented horse milk – you name it, we’ve probably done it.
Yes, you read all of that correctly. We are not in Kansas anymore. …we never were, but we’re definitely not there now either.
We left Turkey via a flight from Istanbul and arrived in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan over a month ago. Our plane landed at 5 in the morning after flying through the night and from there, 21 of us crammed ourselves into a Marshrutka – a van-like taxi – bags and all, for a 6 hour ride to the town of Karakol in the Issyk Kul lake region.
There, we met F-Squad, the expedition squad that embarked in January and is heading from East to West while my squad travels from West to East. We stayed with them at a yurt camp called Happy Nomads.
The camp could not have been a better place for our debrief. Mountains and foothills behind us, one of the largest lakes in the world only 20 minutes away, yurts for the girls to stay in, and a place for the guys to set up their tents.
It was just what I needed after a few months of being in crowded cities with narrow corridors. And the program for debrief was good in and of itself, with plenty of time to reflect on what God had shown each of us in the last month, thought provoking sermons, heartfelt worship, and some great quality time with the members of each squad. Between that and having several opportunities to hike in the hills and mountains, my level of excitement for ministry in Central Asia went through the roof.
After about a week in Karakol, with debrief complete and F-Squad having left before us, we embarked on a day long marshrutka ride to Kazakhstan. The border crossing was…interesting. Once we got to the border, our driver ushered us out of the marshrutka, instructed us to take all of our baggage, and walk across. And so, on the side of a highway in Kyrgyzstan, rain drizzling down, sky grim and overcast above, big packs on our backs and day packs strapped to our fronts making us look like a herd of ungainly Star Wars creatures, we marched toward the border station while one particularly perky babushka babbled something at me with a smile and then repeated it in a tone I can only describe as suggestive. I hadn’t even crossed the border and already I was a hit with the locals – albeit with a certain unexpected demographic.
We herded into the station building along with what seemed like half of Almaty. And this is where we learned that, in Asia, one must fight, sometimes literally, to ensure the no-cutting rule in line. Just like prison, standing in a line in Asia changes a man. Guards stood throughout the building fingering their machine guns and batons, or holding the leashes of German Shepherds, fixing the crowd with their sternest stares. A sign reading “Good Luck” was fixed to the top of each passport control booth. I stifled a laugh at that one. I just imagined the control agent saying “Ah, sorry. You’ve been randomly selected for an interrogation and beating” and then “Good luck” in the voice of that guy from Taken [bright smile and thumbs up]
Luck, or rather God, was with all of us though, and we crossed the border without incident. We’d made it to Kazakhstan. In the words of one of their recent national icons, “Very nice!”
Many Russian techno-filled hours later, our Marshrutka brought my team to our hostel. Kazakhstan was an unusual ministry for us. As per visa limitations we could only spend a total of 15 days in the country at a time. We also had no official host or ministry connections. Everything was up in the air, and since Kazakhstan was new country for the World Race our hope was to find ministry connections and a potential host for future teams.
A number of our team decided to begin taking lessons in Russian from a local tutor who also spoke English. I decided I’d head into the nearby Tien Shan mountains and trust that God would lead me to a ministry opportunity in the course of my hikes.
He did not disappoint. My teammate Kevin and I hiked to the foot of a nearby peak but were chased down by a thunderstorm and freezing hail before we could summit. We dashed down to a gondola that would take us half-way down the mountain and, while we were waiting in line, were introduced to two gentleman who spoke perfect English with American accents. While one actually was from America, the other was a local producer for a popular television network. His name is Timur and he used to be a long term missionary. Since he still maintains connections with local ministries and works with U.S. churches, he was able to provide us with contact information for and set up meetings with local ministry organizations. He truly was a God-send, and found in the most unexpected place – one that is filled with the grandeur and beauty of the Creator.
Timur’s connections combined with the opportunities my team sought from the beginning made for a fruitful time in Kazakhstan, especially in light of the fact that we may have found potential ministry hosts for future teams through Timur.
With our time in Kazakhstan coming to a close, the squad gathered back together at my team’s hostel and shortly thereafter we traveled together back to Kyrgyzstan for a full month of ministry.
The border crossing was just as interesting a second time. I even had a passport control agent look at me and ask “Amerikanskaya shpion?” Thanks to reading Ian Fleming’s James Bond novels I knew exactly what that meant, but I’d already answered his question of “do you know Russian” with a “nope. Just English,” so my “Hahaha, no. No, no, no, just tourist” was awkward if not incriminating.
Thankfully, as with the first border crossing, we arrived without incident. This time, though, we had a host, ministry connections, and a plan. Our teams split up, one staying in Bishkek, one going to Jalalabad, and mine going back to Karakol.
The day after our arrival in Karakol, we met with a group of local pastors from different churches around the city to hear what needs they had and discuss how we could be of service to them. Two hours later, three of our team were headed to a village for the week. They would stay with a family and assist with daily chores and farming while also ministering to the villagers.
They got more than they bargained for. The villages in Kyrgyzstan look very much like the village from the movie Fiddler on the Roof and rely entirely on agriculture and cattle for income and food. Time there is spent either working the farm, watching over the village sheep, preparing food, or doing any of a number of chores necessary to providing the essentials of life.
One day our team members there were asked to assist with preparing dinner. Kevin was then handed a knife and told to kill a lamb so that they could butcher and cook it. Kevin had never killed a lamb or any other kind of farm animal, but he too was hungry, so he figured it out. Later, bloody deeds done and food prepared, as the guests of honor, he was given an eye to eat, while the other two team members, Bethany and Destiny were given parts of the tongue because, as their host put it, “Women talk a lot.” When asked how the eye was, Kevin’s only response was “chewy.”
By all reports, though, their time and effort was well spent among the people of that village, and the family was thankful not only for the help around the farm but also for the love our team showed to their children. The experience was one they’ll not soon forget.
Meanwhile, those of us who stayed behind in Karakol set to work volunteering at local churches and taking day trips to different villages to aid families in whatever ways we could and to encourage the believers there, many of whom have endured massive persecution from their community for their faith in Christ – everything from beatings to threats against their families and demands that they move out of their villages. Here in Kyrgyzstan, Grace does not come cheap. Faith costs something, and it is all the more precious for that. It’s the kind of Faith that men like Dietrich Bonhoeffer – a German lutheran minister who stood firm against the Nazis – extolled.
Hearing the stories and testimonies of the believers here was beyond inspiring. Meeting those believers face to face, breaking bread with them, and praying together was an honor. You could say our entire time in Karakol was a time of honors. Not only did I get to meet with these amazing men and women of faith, I also had the privilege of teaching Sunday school classes for the first time, leading youth groups, sharing my testimony with churches, families, and young men in or about to start attending university. I had the amazing opportunity to pray over the sick child of a muslim family who, though they did not know Christ, recognized and welcomed the love we had to share with them.
We had our share of challenges among these wonderful experiences too. Some were relatively minor, like stomaching Kumiss, the national drink of Kyrgyzstan. It is fizzy, fermented mare’s milk – a drink which dates back to the time of the Khans, and is served often to guests of honor. The drink is rich in history, meaning, and flavor, though the last of those is the least pleasant. Through sheer will I have acquired the ability to drink whole bowls of the stuff with a smile on my face. I am of the opinion, though, that Kumiss is perhaps one of the best ways to determine whether or not you are a true alcoholic. Are you willing to drink enough of the stuff to get drunk? If you answered yes, I urge you to seek help.
Jokes aside, knowing the meaning behind the drink and the reasons why it is served, I always felt honored when I was handed a bowl of Kumiss. And the food served to us beforehand was always delicious.
My biggest challenge came in the form of illness. During our second week in Karakol, I became sick three times in a row. I viral fever, followed by food poisoning, followed by a nasty cold. I’ll spare you the details except to say the fever had me bedridden for a full day and a half and the food poisoning was, in a word, painful.
In a way, I’m thankful for the experience. I was able to practice choosing joy and choosing faith in God’s goodness and healing hand in ways I don’t often have to. There’s also something to be said for learning to press in and serve those around you even when it is inconvenient or painful or when you feel you don’t have much to offer in your condition. I wouldn’t say I’ve mastered that, but I’ve at least learned something of that level of determined service and love and it’s something I hope to hone throughout the years.
After two weeks, my team traveled to Bishkek, where we are currently serving at a Christian operated rehabilitation center just outside the city. We do mostly cleaning and manual labor helping to build a chicken hatchery so that the center can be more self sufficient. I enjoyed it at first because of the change of pace and because of the practical ways in which it helped the center and those who live there.
I began to enjoy it even more, though, when one of the men who runs the program explained how our coming to Bishkek, our joy, and our willingness to help was a source of major and much needed encouragement not only for the men working their way along the road to sobriety and to Christ, but also for the ministers. It is a privilege to serve and encourage them.
Our time in Kyrgyzstan has been marked by such privileges, and I can hardly express how thankful I am to see God working here.
