I crawled out of bed to get ready for a day in town, but when I opened my mouth to ask my reflection how it felt, my voice came rattling out like a rusted chariot. The bit of a cold I contracted after ranging about in the sleet last Thursday seems to have compounded with the thorough soaking I received at the hands of the elements last night and both have conspired to make me sound much worse than I actually feel. I opted for crawling back into bed again.
After a call from Justus Penka, our favorite milkman, Josiah bundled up and loaded his chainsaw to help out some folks with tornado damage near Atkins. Before it was all over, we wound up inviting the Penkas to stay for homemade pizza at the end of a long day. As I packed up my necessary items for a trip into town tomorrow, I eavesdropped on Papa’s conversation with Justus as he asked about Olga—how was it different here for her than it had been in Russia? Justus shared the plight of the Russian people, boxed into cities with no life, no freedom and therefore an overabundance of alcohol. As he talked, I glanced at my desk where I’d tossed a BibleLeague letter, pleading for funds for those seeking Christ in Russia. My heart is drawn toward this land—hearing the stories from Olga, Don and Taylor. Foolishly they drew the iron curtain closed in an attempt to block the light of the Son. Now they live in darkness, despair and desolation.
But those who walked in darkness have seen a great light…
Lord, Thou art the light of life
Thou shines on darkness, pain and strife
And bids those lost within their walls
To seek Thy name and humbly call.
The maze of sin which swallows man
Lies open, bare, before Thy hand.
Thy light, which is the world’s life
Can safely lead through pain and strife.