John Steinbeck once wrote in a letter to a friend, “The craft or art of writing is the clumsy attempt to find symbols for wordlessness.” So here I am, stumbling over symbols and words.
There is a lot of
pressure on this first blog post. I mean, this is how my friends and family will be
keeping up with my eleven-month journey around the world. I am not really sure
how to start this off…Anecdote? How I was called? Request for support? We
shall see…
Now I find myself sitting
outside of a coffee shop in Lake City, Colorado. It is the beginning of July
and a summer shower just blew through. The sun has brought itself back out from
behind the clouds and I am perfectly situated under the shade of an evergreen.
I sip on my cafe au lait as my fingers tap away at the keyboard.
How different will my life
be six months from now? Am I ready to give up the comforts of home in order to
have the experience of a lifetime?
I was fifteen years old,
stepping on European soil for the first time. A lot seemed the same, the people
were white and did not dress much differently than I. They drove cars and
pushed strollers, went to their jobs and walked their dogs. Something was
different, however. There was a darkness that sat heavily on these people, as
if tainted by something that could not be mentioned. Behind their smiles was a
fear, a fear I could not name.
I knew some history about
the country I was visiting, but the weight of it all did not come until a day
we as Americans celebrate with watermelons and fireworks. On July 4th
1941, Latvia’s main Jewish synagogue was set afire by Nazi German troops who
had recently arrived in Latvia, killing all who occupied it. This day is
recognized as the Commemoration Day of Genocide Against the Jews. This day is
remembered with a black ribbon tied to every flag in the country on the fourth
day of July. It is estimated that Nazis killed over 70 thousand Jews during
this time. This is a day of remembrance for two countries; for one a
celebration and the other a solemn tribute. With Communism still fresh in their
minds, Latvians fight to bring life back into their country. Many search for
happiness from the bottle, leaving families fatherless and ashamed. Some find
it in the sex industry as prostitution rates grow higher each year. The economy
has slumped beyond reason and they have one of the highest unemployment rates
in the EU. Yet there is hope for the people of the beautiful country of Latvia.
There are churches and believers all over the country acting to make a
difference. Being blessed with the opportunity to serve there has made all the
difference in my life. Hugging the orphaned and feeding the hungry are only
small parts of what we did there. But more than anything we as Houston’s First
Baptist did, God moved. He moved in the hearts of men. He moved my heart. He
opened my eyes to things unseen and my heart became soft to people of different
cultures. No matter what the language, no matter what the skin color, no matter
what the culture, God is Lord over all.
Getting on that airplane
back to the States was one of the more difficult moments of my life. Pleading
eyes and open arms begged me to stay, but I knew I had to go. I returned to
Latvia, a monument in my life, three more times, each time harder to leave than
the last.
This is not a history
lesson. This is not a list of good works on my part. This is not sappy
recollection of yesteryear…
This is real. This is when
I discovered that complacency was not an option for me. This is when James 1:27
rang true: “Religion that is pure and undefiled before God the Father is this:
to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained
from the world.”
This is when God said,
“GO.”
Here I am, send me.
