The year was 1996. I was 17. It was my first overseas mission trip. I was in Russia. I was young. Very young. Sometimes I wonder why God allowed me, so young and dumb, to do His work.
I'm realizing now it was a journey. A part of my growing up. Just like now. It doesn't stop. As long as you're seeking God, God is changing you.
There are certain things from that trip that stick out in my memory. Some of them, I can't shake. Some are seemingly trivial, but they're there none the less and I think about them often.
This one is an untold story. Mainly because it's not really a story. Just a blip in time. But it's come full circle and now it must be told.
I was living in an orphanage of sorts, and we all had Russian roommates (mostly students that were going to school there). I was assigned to a small room with just two beds and an early teen girl who barely spoke English. My Russian was worse than her English, so conversation between us was minimal. She didn't own a lot. But, as I soon learned, neither did any of the other ordinary Russians. Small flats that they lived in, minimal possessions, no cars - the list was short. I had more "stuff" in that room that I had brought over the sea in my two oversized suitcases than she probably owned.
One of the rules for the Americans that lived there was that we weren't supposed to share clothes. Simple and silly, but not the point of this story. Everyone shared clothes anyway, without much regard to the "rule." Everyone but me anyway. I was (and still am if you ask Dan) a rule follower. To a T. I try not to be such a stickler, but my conscience works overtime. To put it plainly, it never sleeps.
My roommate came up to me one day and asked in broken English if she might borrow one of my skirts for the day. I quickly explained to her that that was not allowed, and I was sorry, but, no, she couldn't. She quickly turned away in embarrassment and never asked again. She knew that all her Russian friends were borrowing clothes from the Americans, and she wanted to develop that camaraderie with me. I really have no clue if she even understood my lame explanation.
That was it. That was the untold story. The story that won't leave me alone. It's been 19 years since that day. And I am still plagued. For the first 10 years the guilt I felt every time I thought of it was for not just breaking the dumb rule and letting her borrow my skirt. You know, learning to follow the spirit of the law and not the letter. Developing a sweet friendship with another soul.
But then, something changed, something inside me. Seeking God, growing, changing, seeing the world through Jesus' eyes. And one day when I thought of that incident, the light bulb came on. The guilt was no longer - "Why didn't I let her borrow the skirt?" The revelation was - "WHY IN THE WORLD DIDN'T I JUST GIVE HER THE SKIRT??!!!!" Why wasn't I being Jesus, the very Person, I was in Russia to be?
Why? Because it wasn't even in my radar. That's why.
But it is now. When I think of this, I'm looking at it through different eyes. I think of our closet there in that small room in Moscow, Russia. My roommate had 2 skirts to her name. I remember that clearly. I think I must have had 10, and probably at least 5 more at home. So many clothes compared to this girl, but it didn't even occur to me in my immature mind to give out of my abundance.
The reason this story has come full circle for me is because God is teaching me to give. If I was smarter on the computer I would change the font just on that little word "give" and put it in the most beautiful script I could find because it is beautiful.
I just read a story about a church in Austin, TX who had a guest speaker on an Easter evening in 2007. Near the end of the service he mentioned that earlier that morning he had spent some time in a homeless community in San Antonio. Their spokesman had told him that their biggest need was - shoes. He said that homeless people spend all day on their feet, and since their shoes are worn out cast offs they have chronic leg and back pain. As people came forward for communion that Easter evening, the speaker gave them an opportunity. He told them if they wanted they could leave their shoes (and socks) at the altar, and they would see that it all got to that homeless community in San Antonio.
Easter Sunday 2007 - 150 people at a church in Texas in their best shoes. So many of them left that service barefoot and smiling. There's something about leaving your gift at the altar. It may have been your favorite pair of shoes, but now it's a gift to the Savior. There was a need and communion called not just for remembering the gift of Christ, but a call to action in giving a gift to Christ. "For when we give unto the least of these we're giving unto Him." (My paraphrase of Matthew 25:40 inserting the beautiful word - give.) They gave their shoes because they couldn't help it! And they had church that day, the way it was meant to be.
That's where God is taking me. I'm not there yet, but it's my journey. I want it to be second nature to give. When the Russian girl asks to borrow my skirt, I don't want to have to even think about it when I smile and say, "Here, take it, it was for you all along." I want to walk home barefoot because someone needed my shoes more than I did. I want to not be able to help it!
The two things I remember about that sweet young Russian girl so many years ago, is the story I just told, and the gifts she gave me the day I left for home. I still have them. Sweet, generous gifts out of a kind heart. A constant reminder of the beauty of giving, whether it's out of abundance or out of precious little.
I missed that opportunity 19 years ago, but there are oh, so many more. Everyday, everywhere - opportunities to give in Jesus' name, opportunities to be The Gospel. You don't even have to look to find them. They will find you.
And you won't be able to help it.
Give because it's beautiful.
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