Międzyzdroje: Article 8

At the end of the evangelism tour with the theater group Dar, we spent the night at a brand new, not yet opened hotel called the Golden Tulip in Międzyzdroje. It is located five minutes from the Międzyzdroje beach on the Baltic Sea. This was a unique portion of the tour since it was not focused on evangelism, but was an opportunity to raise money for Dar.

One of the main managers knew Jarek and Monika Siech from theatre work they had done in Bydgoszcz. He was able to offer them the opportunity to help “sell” the apartments/hotel rooms to the investors who were coming the following day, before the actual grand opening. There were two apartments that the investors would be shown and our job was to act as though we were living in these rooms.

This was probably one of the most random, interesting, awkward experiences of my life. Monika and Jarek dressed as mimes and moved about one apartment as a married couple. Kinga, Carman, and I were dressed in our doll costumes and were to pantomime a family in the second apartment. Carman was the father, Kinga our dancing daughter, and I, of course, was the mother.

We arrived in Międzyzdroje around noon the day before our actual “performance,” so we got to explore a bit, walk the beach a little bit, and wait for Monika and Jarek to be finished with their meeting with all the bigwigs of the Golden Tulip. It was a fairly enjoyable day except for the fact that my immune system was still trying to conquer a nasty little sickness that had hit me the day before, so I was basically sleepwalking my way through the sightseeing. I was overjoyed when we were able to get into the rooms that we would be staying in for the night. I was in and out of sleep from the moment we found our rooms and I plopped myself on the comfortable, never before slept on bed. Pillows surrounded me and it was glorious.

One of the few times I was out of sleep was for the group meeting to explain what exactly was expected of us. While eating our Polish pizza, we were informed, by Jarek and Monika, of every little detail on how we were to act. If we did one thing that some of the top managers did not like, our mutual understanding with the hotel (since we were not given a written contract) could be terminated. With this knowledge, we realized there was a lot of practice and particulars we would have to go through, but that night, to my relief, we decided to just enjoy our slightly unfinished rooms and rest.

The next morning, with me feeling somewhat better, we gathered together for a Bible study and then spent quite a bit of time getting ready for that afternoon. We got acquainted with the apartments we would be showing and worked out the little kinks in our doll movements. The thing I struggled with the most was only interacting with the Dar members and never responding to the audience that would be coming through. This was difficult because we were told that we were only an enhancement to show off the perks that came with the rooms and were not to be distractions. This meant, we were not to respond to anything besides each other, but we were also not to be rude and ignore the investors. The line between playing our part and ignoring was difficult one to figure out.

With all our makeup and costumes on we waited anxiously in our separate apartments. Where Carman, Kinga, and I waited, there were also three others: two waitresses of sorts and one bartender, for the hotel had set up a bar on the balcony. We all stood in the living area chatting, but ready to scramble to our posts as soon as we would hear the elevator “ding.” I don’t remember how many false alarms we had.

The first group of investors came through the doors very loudly. They were all English speakers, though it was obvious that for most of them it wasn’t their first language. I spent the first few minutes of their tour in the bathroom doing short doll like movements that would point out different features and then pausing. After showing off the towel heating rack and the other fancy things I would walk into the kitchen and pretend to pour tea for my “husband.” It was basically all improve from there on. The groups would stay anywhere from 15-30 minutes in the apartments, and I would have to move, pause, not respond, smile, move pause, and figure out my next move, while trying not to do the same thing over and over again. Thankfully, most of the investors tended to enjoy their time at the bar more than spending the whole time exploring the apartment.

This first group also held one of the most awkward moments I have ever had. I was paused by the dishwasher in the kitchen, looking down at the teacup I had just placed in it, when an older gentleman approached. Trying not to respond to his obvious nearness I was staring as intently as I could when the gentleman grabbed my hand in his. He started to speak to me with a French accent, and since I assumed this was not one of those times I could ignore the guests, I looked at him in response. As our eyes met, he stepped back slightly taken aback.

“Your eyes,” he exclaimed, “They are so blue! They are perfect! They are blue! I am French. ”

It was my turn to be somewhat taken aback, and not knowing what to do I just smiled and nodded my head slightly.

Still holding my hand, he continued praising my eyes and commenting about how he was French. When the only response I could think to give him was the nodding of my head and the pleasant-June-Cleaver smile, he just squeezed my hand and said with a knowing smile, “I understand, it’s okay. I am French.”

It was one of the longest two minutes of my life, but thankfully the tour leader announced that it was time to leave. With one last squeeze the Frenchman let go of my hand and walked out the door. Once every last investor was gone I was free to laugh and shake off the awkwardness. Kinga, seeing a little of what had happened came to me laughing as well. After that, the rest of the evening seemed to be rather uneventful, though, I’m not sure if I’ve ever had so many random people take pictures of me.

Thinking back to this time of unusual and unexpected opportunity for provision, I realize that living this life is never boring. I never know what to expect from the things God calls me to do. It reminds me that His ways are higher than mine, and with a past as strange and awesome as I’ve got thus far in life, it only makes me even more wary and excited for the future.

Broken Buildings, Broken Heart: Article 7

All week I have been debating what to write about. There are many stories, but some are very personal and some are simply too hard to explain with just words. I am currently writing this article with the deadline looming just mere hours before me.

I am sitting at the Higher Grounds coffee shop in Remer, the part time job I’ve held since returning home in September. I’ve been browsing my pictures and reliving memories in between times of customers and cleaning. Thankfully, it has been a slow day. Otherwise there just might not have been an article this week.

As I peruse my Poland pictures I am reminded of all the history Poland has. There are old buildings filled with tales, cemeteries and old bunkers that weave legends of war and battles, and of course the patriotic people of Poland tell the stories as well. While I gathered many bits of detail, I learned that there is so much more in their history to be learned.

My last Monday in Poland we spent it exploring a few of the abandoned places. Between the Germans and the Soviets it’s hard to remember who built what and how long they were there. Bunkers edge cities. Not because the Polish were fighting with anyone, but because they were often the buffer between the USSR and Germany. That day we saw a couple old bunkers, a Russian cemetery, and an old officers building built by the Germans.

This last building was my favorite. It was a mess, but you could still see the grandeur that it must of held before bombs, abandonment, graffiti, and parties all left their mark. It was built in a circular fashion. There were very large rooms with high ceilings connected by curved corridors lined with offices and dorm rooms.

Upon first entering the building there was a round, domed room that connected to two different hallways and some stairs to enter into the second story. Bricks, doors, windows, cushions, and heaps of glass covered almost everywhere you looked. We easily spent over an hour following hallways, sticking our heads into rooms, climbing stairs, and imagining what the building must have been like before all this destruction was brought upon it.

After many rooms explored and stairs climbed we found ourselves outside in a large courtyard. It was almost impossible to not step on red ceramics and other building rubble since it was strewn so thickly across the ground. As I went around taking pictures to capture the sorrow and beauty of such a destroyed place, Kinga perused the rubbish piled on the ground until she found something unique. She held out for me to see a marred and broken piece of glass shaped undeniably as a heart. As I took a picture of her with this piece of glass, I found myself pondering the symbolism that it brought to mind.

Before I could think too much about it though, I met up with Monika (Kinga’s mother). She looked so troubled and sad that I had Kinga translate for me what was weighing her down. Monika and Jarek have desired to own a large building complex, in order to hold their dreams of a Christ-centered theatre, a theatre school, and a home for elderly and/or orphans. She explained her sorrow that such a perfect building for their dreams would be laying out unwanted and in ruins, while they had no resources to create it into what she could envision.
Again, I was hit with a great sense of something more meaningful was being spoken out here. I took my leave of everyone and struck out on my own to get a few more shots of the building and take some time to think.

As I climbed to the highest point I could I marveled at the beauty the building must have once held. It was designed for greatness. At that thought I realized that this building was a perfect example of us, we as humans.

We were initially designed and created for beauty and for greatness. We were meant for a purpose and built perfect for that purpose and when we fulfilled it, we would bring glory to the one who designed us. But before we humans could really live out this glory we were destroyed. Sin was brought in and flattened us useless. Since the Fall of Adam and Eve, we have been conceived with this design for greatness, but it is laid out as impossible to fulfill because of the sin we were born into.

While we’ve already been rendered seemingly inadequate, the destruction on our building doesn’t stop. Life brings people who leave their beauty and leave their scars on us. Through graffiti, drunken parties, blatant disrespect, and natural deterioration, the perfection we were created for that already seemed unreachable distances itself from us even further.

Just as Monika saw the beauty and the potential of this abandoned officers building, we sometimes can see what we were meant for. But just like Monika having the vision, but not having the resources, we find ourselves glimpsing what could be, but realizing there’s no way for us to be able to afford it.

The only way Monika and Jarek could ever have this building is if, by some miracle, it was given to them along with the crew to fix it up. The only way we could every have our hearts open for renewing is if someone paid the price and then gifted it back to us. The thing is, while Monika and Jarek haven’t yet been gifted with this building, we, as humans have a gift waiting for us.

As I walked down the stairs leading away from the front large double door entrance, I was overwhelmed by the realization of the initial depravity of my heart. More than that though, I was overcome with the rediscovering of the joy of Christ’s salvation. His sacrifice not only bought my broken, beaten, destroyed, useless heart, but He is continually building up, shaping, and cleaning it out so that it may once again display it’s originally designed glory. So that I may once again display my life’s originally designed glory—the glory of God shining in me.

About Poland: Article 6

When discussing with my mother what I should or should not share next in these articles, she mentioned I haven’t talked much about the Polish culture. That simply will not do, so guess what this article’s about!
As a little warning to you, the readers who may have gotten used to my style of writing, I will probably change my flow quite a lot in the next 1000 words. In all frankness this will be more or less a list of things I took notice of while in Poland concerning the Polish people. I also feel I must preface all that will be said with the understanding that not everything stated here is fact, but will be doused with a lot of my perspective.

The first thing I noticed about Poland was that it is very similar to Minnesota. The weather, the greenness, the lakes, some of the trees, and all of the natural sounds reminded me of being home. I do know that there are mountains in the southern portion of Poland, but as I was mostly in the northern part I never saw them. Where I was is slightly hilly, slightly flat, woodsy in some areas, and a lot of fields and space in between some big cities.

There was definitely more of a European “feel” in the bigger dwelling areas. Though, that is an obvious observation, it’s what it is. A mixture between old fancy buildings and blocky mass housing dressed in beiges, muted reds, and highlights of teals, blues, greens, and yellows, lined the streets that made no sense to me. Many of these streets and almost all the parking lots were paved with cobblestone (older areas) or these interesting puzzle like bricks. One of the translators told me that things were paved this way because it was more work, but less damaging/destructive to pull up a few “puzzle” pieces than tear up a whole road if maintenance or below surface work needed to be done.

Speaking of roads, Polish driving can be quite scary. Speeding seems to be the norm everywhere, but in Poland there were more than a couple times where a driver would be going twice the speed limit easily. The speeding isn’t the thing that scares me though. It’s the passing of cars that does. It’s not unusual to pass someone when there’s oncoming traffic. Supposedly the rule is that the passer drives down the middle while the other vehicles cradle the shoulder. I got used to this driving by the end of the month, but my first few experiences on the road made me want to piddle my pants.

As mentioned in a previous writing, parks are a part of every city I visited. They were usually situated near some sort of water. Each had an amphitheater. Some were dirty and unkempt; while others were gorgeous, spacious, and obviously well kept.
One of my favorite parts of Bydgoszcz is a bridge that crosses either the Brda or Vistula river (I forget which one). It is a tradition that couples that have gotten married bring a lock with their name or initials plus a date etched into it. They then lock it on the gate like sides of the bridge and throw their keys into the river below. There is a great mixture of typical and specially made locks crowding the gates. It’s beautiful.

A few articles ago, I mentioned a typical breakfast (one with bread, cheese, sandwich spreads, meats, tomatoes and cucumbers). Well, during breakfasts I got to use to eating slightly big, because lunches never came until about 2pm. Lunches are their biggest meal of the day. It is usually a hot meal with either meat, rice or potatoes, and some sort of veggie, or a soup followed by some sort of hot dish/casserole. Most of the food was a variation of something I would have in America, but were certain meals that were really different for me. One of the first lunches I was given was hot rice covered in applesauce and sprinkled with cinnamon sugar. It wasn’t my favorite thing in the world, but it wasn’t too bad. Besides having more cabbage and coleslaw than I’ve ever had before, the only other odd meal to me was their enjoyment of fruit/berry soups (usually blueberry) and fruit/berry sauces that they put over rice.

I don’t think there was one day with the Siech family where there wasn’t at least one or two other people joining us for a meal or tea. Eating together as family and friends was evidently important. I do not know if this is a truth across the board for the Polish people or if it just was for the Polish Christians I met. There were usually people over for a tea/coffee break that happens between lunch and supper (which is either left-overs or the same as breakfast). A menagerie of treats usually accompanied tea and coffee. There could be little chocolates, different types of cakes, wafers with jam inside, these sugar puff things (really sweet), and hard cookies… I never had a soft cookie there.
Here are some other thoughts concerning Poland.

I dislike their bathrooms… especially old ones. There are windows in almost all of the doors, even ones to the shower. Even though they have a film on them or are rippled to conceal, it is still disconcerting considering that someone can tell you’re in there . Some of their toilets would only flush only once in a while, while others, from the war eras, had a “shelf” that would catch your waste, so you could look for worms in it. Gross.

 In dress, they are not that unusual from America… though I may say that they are less modest than we are… at least we as in the Midwest. I saw more guys in speedos, underwear, and short shorts than I ever have in my life. See through shirts weren’t that uncommon either. I was pleasantly surprised, though, that going sans makeup was quite normal.

They are a pretty patriotic people; flags and the Polish blue and white colors were everywhere. I never heard any of the people disrespect Poland like I hear Americans do concerning the U.S. all the time.

Their language is difficult, especially since each word has a few different ending depending on the gender, tense, and quantity of what you are talking about. It is similar to Greek in that aspect. I am actually hoping to learn this language, mostly because I am ever hopeful and excited to go back.

There’s so much more to say about Poland, but there are many things I don’t know how to describe. Overall, Poland is filled with wonderful, friendly people, and I love them. I hope this helps put a little perspective to your thoughts of Poland.

The Importance of Testimonies: Article 5

Testimonies are very important part to the Polish church. I don’t believe there was even one service or Bible study/prayer meeting where there wasn’t at least one testimony shared. I found myself giving my testimony at Camp Eden in Ocwieka the first Sunday I was there. I arrived at the Sunday morning church service just in time for worship to start.  I had to sit with Jan Tomczyk, who was the pastor and the man who spearheaded the camp, since he was also a great translator. Jan is also very good at seizing opportunities and since no one really knew me the opportunity to have me speak seemed great. He asked me to share a testimony.
Two other people said their testimonies before me, but as they were in Polish and I was slightly stressing about what to share I missed much of what was being translated for the few English speakers in the room. As soon as I went to the front with Jan, though, I knew what I was supposed to talk about.

I told them a little of how I was raised in an awesome Christian home with amazing parents. I spoke of my fairly pleasant childhood, but how in seventh grade I became sick and was then diagnosed with Fibromyalgia. I mentioned not only how it affected me, but also how I was healed from it… a great time in my life. It didn’t end there, though. Because of the weight gained from the sickness and the family moving away from the cities and my shyness, I felt as though I didn’t belong. These emotions on top of other stresses brought me to a time of depression and asceticism. A combination of certain events my freshman year of high school opened the door to self-mutilation and other acts of penance because I felt that I had to correct myself for my failings. Maybe then people would like me, maybe then God could truly be proud of me, and maybe then I would be worthy. It wouldn’t be until November of my junior year that I was able to stop the physical acts of penance and abuse I placed upon myself. The last night I cut I cried out to God and asked Him why it was so wrong, why I had to stop. Following my questioning came one of the clearest times of hearing God. He told me, “When you give yourself scars, it is like saying that the scars I took for you weren’t enough.” It was there I began my journey of trying to understand God’s grace and mercy. It was there that I was truly able to accept God’s help… cause I knew I didn’t deserve it, but I didn’t have to.
My testimony prompted those in the service to pray for their youth. If I, a pastor’s daughter, could buy the lie that I couldn’t tell anyone of my struggles or that I must hurt myself in order to feel perfected, than their children were not exempt from these lies as well. It was such an honor to hear the prayers (even if I couldn’t understand most of them) that were raised on behalf of the youth.

I shared that portion of my testimony a few more times following that Sunday. I shared it with the Siech family, who were at a different church in Bydgoszcz while I was in Ocwieka. I told it one afternoon in Janikowo, while a group of us sat on a trampoline talking about how awesome God is and what He’s done in our lives. And then again, in Szczecinek, during our ministry time in the park I was able to speak of God’s amazing grace and mercy.

It was in Szczecinek that I realized how important my testimony was. You see, in Poland, about 98% of the population call themselves Catholics, but not fully Catholic like we’re used to here in the States. It is run with fear and immense control. Penance, indulgences, and other works are thought the way to earn salvation. While I wasn’t raised this way, I had gotten into my head that I had to earn salvation; I had to self-punish myself in order to be a pleasing before God and myself. Because of this old belief system, I had a connecting point with some of those who listened to my testimony. I was able to share about God’s grace. How He paid for everything. How He gave everything. How we can never, ever earn salvation, but how we don’t have to because He paid the price.

I don’t know the direct outcome of that time in Szczecenik, but I was able to look into some of the faces of those who listened. I remember a couple of people who seemed to really hear all my translated words. It was there I realized how much I loved these Polish people. It was there I realized I could understand them. I knew what it was like to live in fear, condemnation, and under the weight of perfectionism. I knew what it was like to feel hopeless. It was there I realized I had something to give them, for I not only knew hopelessness, but I also knew the resurrection of hope. I knew the power of grace and depth of love God has for us. It was there I realized I wanted to share this with everyone. It was there that all those feelings and emotions became alive to me again, and it was there that I was able to rejoice in God for His continued mercy, grace and love poured over me. It was there I saw the strength and power of a testimony.

Pantomiming Across Poland: Article 4

After 10 days of preparing, we had our first performance at Camp Eden in Ocwieka on August 11^th. We arrived at the camp in time for lunch and I got to see Russ and Doris, whom I had not seen since first going to Bydgoszcz. It was interesting as the time drew nearer for our performance. While, I felt I knew all my parts well, we had only run through the whole thing three times and only once with lighting and full music which were a good portion of our cues. I also had never been in full costume or knew how to do my makeup. There were many reasons to feel anxious, but as my face began to get covered in stage makeup and I heard all the excitement resonating from the Polish voices, I too began to feel excitement.
In a little more than twenty minutes we were done with our performance of “Sen Lalkarza.” In those twenty minutes my love for acting was awakened again and was reminded that every little action can and does affect the future and the lives around. In twenty minutes you can give someone a memory, a lesson, a promise, a new perspective, a goal, and a hope. And while Camp Eden was filled with those already following Christ, I realized in twenty minutes we reminded them of the great love and sacrifice that God gave for us. It was also in these few minutes that I realized we were ready to go into Poland with this simple, but great truth.

That night we returned to Bydgoszcz and the following day, after church, we went to a local amphitheater in a nearby park. We set up for a Polish musical called “Puzzle,” and yes, it means the same as our word “puzzle.”  The musical is about a little girl who is angry with her friends for not wanting to play with her. She overhears that a toy box of new toys has just been set down next to a large puzzle and she comes up with a plan to steal some of the toys to make her friends jealous of her. When she opens up the toy box there are no ordinary toys inside it. One at a time each one comes alive and they help to solve the puzzle while slowly changing her life’s view. With each puzzle piece the toys reveal, more of the gospel is presented to the many kids who were at the amphitheater. At the end of it all, Misha, the girl, gave her life to Jesus with an opportunity for all in the crowd to join her.

“Puzzle” was one performance I was not able to be in since it involved mouthing Polish, and I am not able to do that. J There was more than just acting that we did during our ministry, though. Each place we set up we did one or both of the dramas and also had some form of music performance to go with it. The usual set list was “Puzzle,” musical interlude (either some Polish rappers or some live Christian music), a testimony or two, and every time, but once, we ended with “Sen Lalkarza.” At one city we ended the evening with a fire show that included dancing on stilts while fighting with fire. I never became that good on stilts and the idea of being on them with fire frightened me, so during this performance I was in charge of putting out the fires that were no longer in use.
When we didn’t have the Polish rappers I played the piano for the singers during the music time. A couple times I even got to sing some English songs. One such song that I am proud to say got some of the singers to translate into Polish was “Break Every Chain” by United Pursuit Band.

After singing I gave a testimony that was translated by one of my friends, Konrad. After giving a testimony, I realized why God wanted me in Poland. Because of the language barrier there were times I was confused as to what my purpose really was. As I stood on the stage in Szczecinek I realized my younger years were filled with the same struggles as many of these people. Being brought up in a pre-reformation form of Catholicism, many of the Polish people have a faith based on fear and on works and how much you can give to get out of Purgatory. Similarly, most of my teen years were filled with me trying to earn the favor of God. I was able to quote and say that Christ was my salvation and that I’m saved by grace and faith, but I didn’t believe it. As I explained how God taught me of His love and His plan of salvation and His freedom, I could see a few faces in the crowd very intrigued by my story. I don’t know how much came from it, but I know that God used that time and I was greatly honored.
So during this time of ministry there was lots learned, lots given, lots received, lots of tiredness, life of excitement and energy, lots of friend making, and lots of growing. So many stories I could tell from these times. Stories that include the fun of dressing like a clown in order to get people’s attention, the stress and growth that came of a friend being hospitalized, the few confirmed salvation stories, the many kids that loved to play tag, or barak, and many funny little happenings that came upon us every day. There are a lot more lessons I could share with you. There are a lot more friends I’d like to introduce you to. Maybe now that you know much of the basics from my time in Poland, I will be able to share all this with you.

The First Ten Days: Article 3

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On Wednesday, August 1, 2012, I met a family that I would soon fall in love with. The Siech family is the wondrous combination of Jarek- the hardworking and fun-loving father, Monika- the ever-loving and persevering mother, Kaja- the kind and responsible elder daughter, Kinga- the initially shy, but soon after crazy fun younger daughter, and Radak- the sweet and silly adopted son. Everyone in the family participates in Dar, the evangelistic theatre group that Jarek and Monika started. Their mission and life’s desire is to serve the Kingdom of God by telling of God’s good news to everyone in Poland… and then the world. During my time in Poland, my job was to help them in this mission.

Our first ten days together were dedicated to preparing for the ministry tour that was spread throughout the following eighteen days.

Every morning, we (the Siech family, Carmen- an American young man who also joined in the ministry, and I) would meet in the Siech’s modest apartment for breakfast. Every morning I would hear Radak say, “Hallo B! Hallo!” Every morning I would hear the common greeting “dzien dobry,” from the tired voices of others in the room. Every morning I would help set the breakfast table, and every morning there would be delicious bread, sliced cheese, cucumbers, tomatoes, butter, yogurt, different spreads, and a slender hotdog-like meat. Every morning we would hold hands as we prayed over the meal. Every morning we would clean everything up and then go to a large room, in the same building we stayed in, to practice our dramas or fix/prepare props.
The first couple days were filled with stretching and learning the basics of miming. I never realized how hard miming actually was before these practices. My thighs were sore for days. But after a couple days I could walk, go down stairs, and overall act like a mime; I also learned the basics of blowing fire and stilt walking (though I never did the fire and wasn't comfortable enough to be on the stilts for the ministry time). It was also during the first couple days that I learned that it was actually possible to communicate with only a handful of words.

By Saturday we began to learn “Sen Lalkarza,” or “The Toymakers Dream.” This is a pantomime based on a book of the same title. It tells the story of a Toymaker who receives a Bible as a gift one night, and as he reads it he falls asleep. Once asleep his marionette dolls come to life. One of the more curious dolls finds the toymaker’s plans which details where the dolls will be sent once ready. They all will be sent to different homes. This distresses the dolls, and Mardusa, the evil prince, seizes the opportunity to convince the others to run away from the toymaker. They run away to a beautiful island and at first all seems well, but soon Mardusa forces the others to build a wall that will keep the toymaker from finding them. Much abuse happens to these dolls at the hand of the evil prince. Before the wall could be finished, the toymaker, who had awakened to find that his dolls had run away, turned himself into a doll and stepped onto the island. He finds one of the dolls and explains his plan of sending the dolls to houses of children to bring joy. The doll, realizing their mistake of running away, asks the toymaker to help them escape from Mardusa, but while all this is happening the wall gets finished and they are unable to leave. They devise another plan to escape, but Mardusa discovers their plans and sentences one of the dolls to death by cannon. The toymaker stops him and says he will take the place of the doll, but only if he could stand in front of the wall. Mardusa excited to kill the toymaker agrees. Though the cannon kills the toymaker it also destroys the wall and all the other dolls are able to escape from Mardusa. At this point the toymaker actually awakens realizing he has been dreaming. He looks at the Bible laying next to him recognizing the similarity of sacrifice that Christ gave in order to save man, and the toymaker chooses to follow Christ.

I played one of the marionettes named Tam-Tam, a loyal, but naïve doll, and spent a lot of time practicing moving like a doll. I also spent a lot of time creating and repairing different props for all the dramas and skits we did. There was a lot of work to be done these first ten days and every evening, after dinner and cleanup, everyone was pretty much exhausted. We painted, glued, molded Styrofoam, practiced, stretched, cooked, cleaned, spray-painted, brainstormed, prayed, mended costumes, created costumes and did it all again and again.

Because of everything, it was hard to find time to do the things I personally needed or wanted to do. I didn’t do as many updates as I wanted to and barely wrote in my journal. It took ten days before I was able to squeeze in time to take care of laundry. That was a slightly stressful situation since by day eleven I had to pack for traveling and it took a little over a day to dry all the clothes since there are pretty much no dryers in Poland. It was also difficult, at times, to get myself to wake-up in order to have my devotional time, but the importance of spending time with God became ever increasingly evident. The more there is to be done, the more God is needed.

Those first ten days were very full and sometimes overwhelming, but I can easily say that they were worth it. I was able to learn so much. Not only were they days of preparation for ministry, they were, as I learned later on, days filled with ministry, but I’ll talk about that later.

The Breaths of Poland: Article 2

No matter how many times I fly, I always seem to get a little apprehensive when I first walk into an airport. Did I forget anything? Are my bags light enough? Do I have enough money if something goes wrong? How much time do I have? But once I take a breath I am able to remember there’s really not much that I have control over, so what’s the point in fretting? With a few more breaths I am able to relax and enjoy the wondrous mix of people around me.

Breathing. It helps me a lot. More than just the obvious of keeping me alive, it is often the bridge that allows me to move from one opposite to another. One breath can be the difference between timidity and boldness. One breath can bring me to a place of peace when moments before I could feel my heart contracting with anxiety. Adrenaline can course through my blood with one breath, preparing me for the moments to come. These breaths became very important for me, especially at the beginning of my Polish adventure.

At the first gate to the first plane of the trip I started to pass an older couple, but caught my breath. Is this the couple I will be with for the rest of the adventure? As I paused for a second to decide what to do, I released the breath that held my fears of embarrassing myself, turned around, and introduced myself to the man and his lady. Russ and Doris, a wonderful couple from the greater Minneapolis area who run Poland Evangelic Mission, were automatically warm with me. Conversation came as easily as warmed butter on toast. We talked of families, our travels to the airport, what the previous few days of preparation were like, and of course, we talked of Poland. Well, I listened to much of the talk of Poland. They both had been there numerous times before and had lots to share. Again I took one of those special breaths as a tightening of anxiousness gripped my muscles. The thought of the coming unknown tempted me with fear, but my breath prayer allowed excitement to eclipse anxiety.

After four airports, a little running in those airports, four airplanes, one hour of sleep, and about fifteen hours of travel we arrived in Poznan, Poland. I don’t remember much of Poznan from that first visit, but I do remember two different breaths that I had to take. The first, the quick breath that comes before a sneeze, acquainted itself to me as a most faithful companion for my stay in Poland. And the second, the deep breath that accompanies tiredness, which is best known as the yawn, presented itself multiple times between departing the plane and entering a car where I promptly entered the stage that tosses you back and forth between consciousness.

After driving a couple hours we finally arrived at Camp Eden in Ocwieka, Poland. I needed many breaths to get me through this next part of the trip. It was a new place, which was unfamiliar, filled with people, who were unfamiliar, speaking a language that was unfamiliar. It was a bit overwhelming for a girl as tired as me. I remember wanting to attach myself to Russ and Doris like a leach, but I hate leaches and preferred not being one. I didn’t know what to do. In the process of being shown my room I was separated from anyone I felt even a little comfortable with.  I sat on the futon in my little room, journaling, and finally deciding that a few breaths focused on worship would do me good. It did and it led me into an hour and a half nap.

Soon after I woke I found some peace by making myself useful. I helped clean the rooms of the campers that had left that day, and during that found out that I would not be staying at Ocwieka more than one night. I would be staying with the Siech family who lived in Bydgoszcz, a little more than an hour away. They were the ones I would be with for the rest of the month, preparing for and doing ministry with them. Russ and Doris, though, would not be coming with me. They were staying at the camp. With a few more breaths I pushed away the overwhelmed feeling that kept trying to jump on my back. I yearned for bed. I hoped the blanket of sleep would cover up my loneliness and my fears that my inability to communicate would keep me lonesome.
Seven AM I woke up with a long breath and a stretch. Some breaths spent in prayer and some breakfast at nine readied me for the day. No longer feeling overwhelmed, I began to prepare myself for what the day would hold. I would finally be getting to meet the people I would be staying with, eating with, practicing with, worshiping with, and ministering with for the next 30 days.  At ten I left my room, walked down some stairs, packed my luggage into a vehicle, said see-ya to Russ and Doris, and entered Jarek Siech’s car feeling as though the adventure was officially starting.
But with one big breath I wondered to myself… “How many times can an adventure start?”

Poland? How'd I get There?: Article 1

Portland, OR, a city that, for the last few years, has been of great interest to me. The music, the art, the general lifestyle, and the people have all added their piece to my fascination with the city. My preoccupation led me to think that maybe God was calling me there, even if just for a little while. My family knew of this, so I was a little taken aback when I received a text from my mom saying: “Maybe God meant Poland instead of Portland.”

Little did either of us know that this simple text would be a catalyst for a series of events that are continuing to change my life.

Prior to sending me the text, Mom had been to a church service where Cezary Komisarz, a minister from Poland, was speaking. He gave his testimony and spoke about Poland’s needs and opportunities for ministry. After the service Mom was able to talk with him and his fellow travelers. Through all this, Mom thought of me… her little adventure/missions/travel junkie. With me on her mind and a little wit on her fingertips, she was prompted to send the above text.
Amused, but slightly confused I remember getting into a discussion where I ultimately dismissed the possibility of me going to Poland. I had a job, debt, and couldn’t see taking off too much time off of work. I knew God was getting ready to change things, I could feel it, but I didn’t think He was going to use Poland.

Well, after a week or so of random suggestions from Mom, discussions with co-workers, and the possibility of travel seeming more possible, I decided to at least call the number of Russ Brown, the director of Poland Evangelical Mission.

No more than ten minutes into the conversation with Russ I realized two things. First, almost all the information I heard from my mom that made a trip to Poland seem possible, mainly concerning time frame and cost, was incorrect. Misunderstandings seemed to be the basis of reasons why I decided to even look into Poland. My second realization, though, was that it didn’t matter to me. I wanted to go and felt a confidence that I would go creep into me. I couldn’t see how it would be possible, but God does crazy things all the time, so I hung up the phone and began to figure out what would need to happen.

Through more phone calls and discussions time frames changed, the prices changed, and my standing at work changed. I no longer had to worry about getting the time off because time off is what you get when you’re laid off. Slightly concerned over finances, but realizing that everything happening was God ordained, I continued to try to raise money for Poland, but while everything got me a little closer, nothing worked like I thought it would. I tried using indiegogo.com (an online fundraising platform), I did commissioned paintings, I took pictures for families, and offered up any of my services for a chance to earn and raise money, and in each scenario, while I was always shown grace and blessing from both God and man, I felt like everything I earned or was gifted barely made a dent at the cost.

I bought my ticket two or three weeks later than I wanted to. I was greatly concerned that the prices would increase by the time I had the money needed. I should know by now not to worry, God always has surprises. Unbeknownst to me, the day before I bought my ticket, the price lowered from over $1515 to $1360! It was a good thing God had patience when I didn’t.

After the ticket I still had still had a “guestimated” $1000 I needed. I had $1000 in my account, but also had $1000 left on my school debt. $200 had to go towards that bill for the month of July. My part time job was ending in the beginning in July and with no more foreseeable opportunities to earn money in the future I was torn at what to do. Do I get out of debt or put all the money towards Poland? Ultimately the question was, “How much do I trust God?” In the end I emptied my bank account to get out of debt and while I felt like rejoicing, I also began to realize I had no idea how the money for Poland was going to come. In my weak faith I praised God and soon afterwards friends from all directions started gifting me money out of nowhere. A little here and a little there and I was encouraged.

One week before I was to board the plane for Poland, I was still in need of roughly $800 and began to stress and panic. They were short spurts of panic, but panic nonetheless. Everyday for a week, whether it was money, a card, or non-monetary gift, some form of encouragement was sent my way that would remind me to calm my doubting soul.

Sunday, July 29, I traveled to the cities with some friends who were going to drop me off at the airport the next morning. We made a stop at Guitar Center, and as I was about to enter I get a call from Mom. Less than 24 hours before the flight, the final $500 I needed was given to me. Not only did God provide ways for me earn money, He moved the hearts of friends, family, and churches to bless me, and this time God did it with a few hours to spare.

There’s so much I could detail about May leading all the way to July 30^th, when I officially began my Polish journey, but even for me, it becomes overwhelming to think off all God did. From no consideration of Poland, to no desire, to no money, to no time and no concept of how to move away from these negatives, God brought me through “random” meetings, misunderstandings, lots of work, lots of humility, lots of blessings, and a good dash of stress to what has become an experience much bigger than I can even understand right now.

And that’s how I got to Poland.