The red shoes were her graduation shoes.  After hours of pouring over pictures of shoes at Amazon.com and other online stores, Cori settled on a pair of red patent ballet-like shoes to go with her graduation dress. Not traditional by any stretch of the imagination, but so Cori.  They remind me of a cross between the red shoes Dorothy needed to take from the wicked witch to get back to Kansas and the glass slipper Cinderella lost when fleeing the ball at midnight.

The black shoes were a pair of black flip-flops that we grabbed at the last minute that she and I could wear as shower shoes while we were at our Field Forum at the Mongolian Secret Histories Camp (MSHC).  

It is fascinating the things your brain isolates to remember from traumatic events.  She was wearing the red shoes when she got in the car to leave.  The next time I saw her she was wearing one red slipper and one black flip-flop.  In the accident one slipper came off and she grabbed the first thing she found for that foot -- a flip flop lying by the road.  I’m always scratching my head by the fact that she never matches her socks any given day of the week.  The fact that her shoes didn’t match when she got out of the van that brought her to the lodge after our car was turned to a twisted heap of metal was evidence that she walked away instead being carried away and that was just amazing.

I remember Jonathan having to hold a cold coke can on his mouth because they don’t have ice at MSHC.  Everytime I pull the mate to the set of blue pillowcases off the linen’s shelf, I’ll see Bernie getting out of the van with the blood-soaked pillow case on his head.  

These are the pictures that I see.  Here is what I know.  We have a wonderful God in heaven who goes before His children, watching over them, keeping the enemy at bay.  I know this because everyone who has seen the car after the accident ask the question:  “How many died?”  The answer is no one.  No one died.  No one was critically injured.  I spent our time there marveling every time I heard the laughter of my children louder than any of the other teens there.   

I know this because the first person to arrive at the scene of the accident was the head of the Secret Service in Mongolia.  He saw the entire thing happen.  He stopped and took control, commandeering a van with a Mongolian family in it to take Bernie and the kids to the MSHC where I was waiting with Dr. Pham to make sure they were okay.  He was on his way back to UB from Darhan.  The next day he returned to the police station to make sure the incident was handled correctly and that Bernie was not charged with wrong-doing.  In other such accidents the foreigner has been required to pay to get back his or her registration or license.  He made sure that the official report stated, “The driver did nothing wrong.”  

I know this because one of the next arrivals on the scene was the next door neighbors of the Manchester’s.  There are over 1.5 million people in UB.  Many of them travel the road from there to Darhan on a daily basis.  But the one who was driving by at just the right time was two men who saw familiar faces on the side of the road and turned around to help.  They loaded their SUV with as much of our things that was scattered across the Mongolian country-side and put them, along with Denise in Ellie in their van and brought them to MSHC.  

I know this because of the men on our team who, upon hearing of the accident, left their dinner on the table and rushed to the scene to help deal with the local authorities, gather up everything that didn’t fit in the other vehicle and brought Jim back.  I know this because of the prayers and support of fellow team members and visiting guests that surrounded us that evening.

I know this because of so many little things.  I found it precious that Josh Ward, our visiting friend from our home church in Franklin, who stepped up to help with our worship time, had already come prepared to lead the kid’s singing with “Trading our Sorrows” and “Blessed Be the Name of the Lord.”  Specifically, the lines, “I’m trading my pain...I’m laying it down for the joy of the Lord.”  I watched my family go from barely able to move from soreness on Sunday morning to running up the hill in a race on Wednesday night.  And of course, the second verse to Blessed Be the Name that says “Blessed be your name on the road marked with suffering.  Though there’s pain in the offering, blessed be your name.”  

What else can be said?  Blessed be the Name of the Lord.  I’ve already determined that I will never throw away those red shoes.  I will always keep them as a reminder of God’s faithfulness.  So, if you visit my home someday and there is a pair of red shoes on the mantel or in some other prominent place, bless Him with me, okay?

That’s a question I’ve been thinking about recently. There are so many, many things. Sex trafficking. Drunks in the street. AIDS orphans in Africa. Suffering caused by diseases like cancer. Suffering caused by evil men such as the recent shooting in Colorado.

Sometimes it seems unbearable. It’s probably a good thing that the Father gives it to us in doses we can swallow. I can’t imagine having to observe all these things all day, every day.

We were reminded by our Field Director, Dennis Maves, in church last week of one of my favorite hymns by Annie Johnston Flint. “To added afflictions, He addeth his mercy…”. I am so thankful that we have a merciful Father.

But I think one of the things that breaks my heart most is broken families. I’m not sure why. The things I mentioned earlier are horrible, horrible things. Maybe because my experience with family has blessed me so much. When I was growing up, my family life was a cocoon for me. And I had not just my parents, but an extended family and my parents’ friends who were more than happy to step in (and did) to offer love and support. I married into a family that has continued that love and support. Now, my own children have blessed me in so many ways.

I have not personally experienced the brokenness of family like I have seen in Mongolia. It almost seems to be the norm. It is another reason why the gospel is so necessary here. Jesus is certainly no quick fix, but the picture of Christ and his bride as well as the idea of God as our Father, evidence the fact that family originates with God.

Sometimes it breaks my heart when I am talking about the concepts of Christian families with the girls I disciple. I can look at the relationships of my parents and my in-laws. I can be encouraged by many friends in the church who are growing their families together, inspired by those who have gone before us in the faith. It is so hard to have to look these girls in the eyes, knowing they have no example, and say to them, “You’re it. You are going to have to figure this out, by grace and with the help of God, in your culture and your context, with no one who has gone before you to show you the way. There are no books, no helps, no classes, nothing. You are the first generation of Christian family and the young in the church will be looking to you.”

I am so grateful to people like our teammates, Richel and Melody Maraat, whom God has called here to UB to minister to families. Please pray for them.

I am also thrilled and excited for a young couple we know, Erka and Doggi, committed to being pioneers in this process. I love having conversations with her about learning principles of submission and teaching her two little boys how to grow up to be godly young men. I love knowing that she goes home to serve her boys and her husband and that together they are ministering the gospel and training Mongolians to follow Christ. They have been faithful servants with YWAM for six years now. Their humility, sincerity and dedication encourage and sometimes shames me.

I have been so hesitant to do what I am about to write. I don’t want to meddle in what God wants to do for them. I hate “raising support.” Always have. It’s the one of most difficult parts of being in ministry to me. I rarely wrote support letters for my short term ministry trips.

Yes, there is a “but” coming up here. Erka and Doggi have been given a wonderful opportunity to study in the US for the next two years. They have been given a scholarship, including room and board, to the Evangelical Institute in Greenville, SC. Yes, this is the school where Bernie and I met and Jonathan recently graduated. But… airfare is not cheap from here to the US. Especially for four people.

I’m sure many of you have heard of stories of international students coming into the US and never leaving, whether legally or not. This is not the case here. They are in full-time ministry and are required to take a sabbatical year. They want to use this time to further their understanding and be able to minister more effectively on their return. They have been granted a one year extension. Erka also wants to use the time he is in the US to learn more about recording and production so that he can return and help young Mongolian artists in their desire to share their faith through music. Both are deeply interested in learning more about the Bible more deeply.

If you are reading this, and would be interested in helping to support Dogi and Erka’s family in any way, please contact us. They need your prayers, your friendship while they are in the US , and your financial support. Let us know if you would like to participate in any way. We have great hope in God’s grace for this family.

Because He gives more grace.

Erka and Dogi with their two boys

“Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart.”

But no, that’s not how I do things. I suppose I would have to say that I didn’t choose my life verse. It chose me, or more accurately, God chose it for me.

Before I continue to reveal said verse, let me note that you are probably realizing that this blog is not written by Bernie, the usual blogger on the Remember Mongolia website. It’s been a long time since I’ve actually helped him out with material here. Probably because for me, blogging is a way to process and verbalize what is going on internally. Over the past couple of years, social media has allowed me to do that with some things and writing and teaching Bible Studies has given me an outlet with others. Neither of those venues seem appropriate here. That said….

More years ago than I want to mention, I was a college student living in Memphis, Tennessee. I don’t remember how I came across this verse, maybe because I was reading a book or studying about Philippians. When I read verse 3:10, it was as if something would never be the same.

“That I may know Him and the power of His resurrection and the fellowship of His sufferings, being conformed to His death,”

and then of course, the conclusion in verse 11 of attaining the resurrection. I was drawn in and intrigued and the response that rose up from within was a prayer.

“Lord, I want to know You like this.”

I can still see it clearly in my mind. I had a dear friend, Alva, working in a law office in downtown Memphis. I met her for lunch in their conference room that was in a high rise building with one side completely made of glass. As I looked out on the beautiful clear day at the mighty Mississippi River, I shared my prayer with her. I can still remember her looking me full in the eyes and saying, “Renee’, that is a prayer God always answers.”

She went on to share with me of her own experience. She had been with a missions organization and during that time had spent six months in a Turkish prison for sharing the gospel. I knew that she knew what she was talking about.

What is it about youth that can romanticize something like prison? Perhaps its that idealism that comes with believing so strongly about something that you have to do something about it. And yes, this was also around the time that the missions spark was ignited in me. Now, I would say, “Oh, wow, that must have been rough.” I don’t remember what I said, but I know what I was thinking, “Oh, wow, that is so cool.” Do you ever miss naivety?

That was my first understanding of that verse. Suffering equals persecution. It means standing up for truth no matter what, and that was the kind of thing that appealed to me.

As I grew older, I continued to pray this prayer and, as Alva promised, God continued to answer. Then I got married and had two children. One day it dawned on me, that if I prayed that prayer, something might happen to my children. I understood suffering to be loss. I didn’t want to lose my husband or my children. We lived in a neighborhood with several police officers, and sometimes when they turned onto our street it looked as if they were turning in our driveway, and my heart would leap up into my throat until they passed by. So I stopped praying that prayer.

God, however, did not stop answering, and over time He gave me the courage and the faith to pray that again. He continued to answer.

A couple of weeks ago, I was having lunch with three very special Mongolian friends, Bayarmaa, Doggi and Onon. And God brought us, in our discussion, to this verse. I shared with them that this was my life verse. In the last couple of years, I have learned a new dimension to this verse. The four of us have to different extents. Suffering sometimes equals persecution. Suffering sometimes equals loss. But sometimes suffering is pain inflicted by others.

As I considered the Lord Jesus in His last days on earth, I thought about the different types of pain He went through. Certainly He was being persecuted. Certainly He suffered loss – He had to give His mother to His friend, John, to care for. I have to wonder, though, if the greater pain was in the betrayal of those closest to Him. The crowd, who just days before had cheered Him on with palm branches and loud Hosanas were now shouting for His crucifixion. Judas had betrayed Him with a kiss. Peter denied knowing him. The version of that incident in the book of Luke is very telling. He adds the detail that Jesus turned and looked at Him. I can’t imagine the pain in that look, to both the giver and the recipient. Peter himself went out and wept. Of all His followers, only John, his mother, his aunt and Mary Magdalene were with Him to the end.

Now I realize that if I continue to pray this prayer, I do so with eyes wide open. Suffering involves rejection. It involves betrayal. It involves rejection and betrayal at the deepest levels. Not by the fickle rabble, but by those with whom we thought we were safe. Perhaps if I were still that young girl watching the river power its way to the ocean, I could idealize this. So what if I get hurt, it’s for the cause! But hurt is just hurt and it doesn’t get easier. If anything, it gets harder. As it does, the prayer gets more and more difficult to pray.

Can I put in a request to change my life verse, please? Probably not. On the other hand, I don’t think it would hurt to line it up beside a companion verse.

“Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and YOU WILL FIND REST FOR YOUR SOULS. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.”

This soul needs this today. Especially if I am to stay the course.

When the phone call came today, it wasn’t just any ordinary Saturday. It was Cori’s birthday and in less than an hour, she would have friends arriving. Not only was the pizza not finished, but I didn’t even have her cake in the oven. Never have I been so unprepared for one of my children’s birthdays. To top it all off, I just wanted to go to bed. I have somehow managed to come down with four different ailments at once (which I won’t go into). So just finishing this task would take more energy than I really had.

Ah, but that’s not all. I had promised Jonathan two weeks ago, that we would host a Christmas Open House (okay, I confess, I love it – normally). Because I’ve been sick, I haven’t been able to do any advance preparations. So that is ahead. And sometime in the next 48 hours I had to finish laundry (without a dryer, remember) and pack, while leaving a clean house for the two Mongolian girls who will be staying here with Sadie.

As soon as I heard the ring, I thought to myself, “We can’t do anything else.” The Mongolian lady started talking to Bernie about the center and water. This would be the place to tell you that after months of renovations and endless shopping trips, the UB Student Center officially opened last night. This past week had gone so well. After the initial trips when we couldn’t find anything that worked, things were falling in place, right down to the cups with sheaves of wheat and the thermoses that matched the wallpaper. Bernie and Onon and I were so pleased to see the fruit of all our weeks of work. A lovely, peaceful place was finally ready for students to come and find a quiet place to study. Then next month, when we arrive back from the US, we could start scheduling events.

We knew that the heater in the front room had been leaking, so Bernie finished what he was doing and grabbed a few towels, expecting to go wipe up some water. He never dreamed he would open the front door and walk into a sauna. The radiator, heated by scalding hot water had burst in the middle of the night and was spraying water into the room. It was literally raining in the room from the steam that would condensate on the ceiling. The walls were wet. The furniture that we spent hours shopping for and having built was wet. Everything was wet.

With the help of teammates, Dennis and Eric, Bernie and Onon spent the next couple of hours cleaning and assessing the damage. The floors that Bernie has labored so long on will have to be redone. The ceilings that Soggi had painted for us will have to be repainted. We are hopeful that the wallpaper will not have to be replaced. Bernie’s guitar is fine (Hallelujah!) but we don’t know yet about the keyboard. The new rug is wet, but should dry, as we hope will the upholstered chairs. We believe that the wood furniture will still be usuable.

So, human nature automatically calls up the question: “Why did this happen?” and even, “Why, God, did You allow this to happen?” The question is not wrong -- as long as the heart believes. We have the opportunity to choose to believe that God is on His throne. He was not taken by surprised. He was not out-maneuvered by our enemy who seeks to kill, steal and destroy. He chose to trust us to trust Him. To know that He is more than able to work this for good and for the glory of His kingdom. We’re not sure how or when. We don’t even know if we will ever be able to say, “Oh, this is why God allowed that to happen.” What we do know is that by His grace we as a team give thanks – not for the mess, but for the God Who is able to triumph in spite of the mess. We give thanks for timely words from Scripture that are there before we know we will need them. And most of all, this Christmas, we give thanks because He is Immanuel, God with us – even in a sopping wet Student Center.