Red Headed: Letter - August 2, 2010

Bison statue at Kauno ąžuolynas Park in Kaunas, Lithuania

When it Rains, it Pours

Dear Family,

This week we had quite the cloud-burst as we were walking home from the Church toward our house. It was so dark outside, it looked like the Baltic version of 10:00 at night. We were dashing for cover as the lightning and thunder started to crash progressively nearer. We stopped under an over-hang, and I looked to my right and recognized a wizened elderly face we'd seen somewhere before. We didn't have much time, but I wished him a good day and we hurried on. I prayed that we'd run into him again, since it wouldn't have been safe or pleasant to start small talk at that moment. We made it home scared out of our minds, tired, and smelling like sewer run-off. During our lunch break, the rain took a break. The second we stepped outside, the onslaught resumed. The following morning we went to a park to do some contacting, and who should walk right in front of us but the man we had seen the day earlier. Although he was not terribly receptive of our message the first time we talked, this time he gladly accepted a pamphlet, said he would read it, and was excited to talk with us again. I know that there are truly people the Lord wants in our path.

We also spent a good part of our Saturday at Rumšiškės. Each of the branches in Lithuania prepared skits and picnic lunches. There was dancing and sporting and all sorts of merry-making. We also had the opportunity to see the Open-Air Museum of Lithuania, a gigantic museum chronicling the ethnic background of the four regions of Lithuania. I stood in front of a Jurtas and walked inside a railway car used to haul the intellectuals of Lithuania to their new life. I couldn't help but pause a bit to reflect on a few of my own blessings.

Jurta (a type of dwelling from Soviet GULAGS in Siberia)

Railway car dedicated to the Lithuanians deported to Siberia.
This train car was used to transport people 10,000 km to the remote region of Russia.

The following night, I felt the spirit especially strong as we were knocking doors. We returned to one stairwell that we couldn't break into the week before. Surprisingly, we were able to get in without a hitch. We were let in by a woman named Stasa. She told us that tomorrow would be the day her sister died 6 years ago, and she told us her life had been hard. She had such a good, tender, and wonderful spirit about her. She said, honestly, she wouldn't repeat her life again if she could. It had been too hard. She had seen to much heart-ache. She said she believes we are called of God. I don't know what will happen to her, but I know the Lord is mindful of the smallest sparrow, and that he knew Stasa needed a hello.

Much Love,

Sister Paul