I’ve always had a fascination with Russia. As a child, I remember sitting and watching the hockey game in the 1980 Winter Olympic games, USA versus the USSR. The Soviet players appeared so serious and void of emotion. “Why do they look so mean?” I asked my father.

He explained the Cold War to me in age appropriate terms. An “us and them” mentality began to grow in my young mind until my dad said something that broke this chain of thought. “You have to realize it’s not the people we are against, it’s their government. It is a group of people forcing evil ways on their country. We must pray for the people in the USSR, for God to help them.”

Fourteen years later I found myself preparing to live in part of the former Soviet Union. I was headed to southern Russia as a missionary. The Iron Curtain had fallen a few years prior. The world had experienced crazy change practically overnight. I couldn’t believe it - had God heard the prayers of my father and thousands and millions of others?

Russia was my first overseas experience and in many ways like a first love. There were many firsts – international flight, foreign language, Christmas away from home, etc. It was also my first time working in full-time ministry. So I prayed like crazy and learn from a lot of trial and error.

One of my teammates and I began working with World War II veterans. We initially met them via a humanitarian project and then offered to do a Bible study with those interested. The numbers were huge in the beginning as we gave an overview of the Bible. But, as we began to focus on Jesus the numbers dwindled to a solid 20. We didn’t want to scare them all away so we toned it down a bit.

These Babushkas and Dedushkas (grandmother/grandfather) were precious and eager to learn yet there was another hurdle we faced. They refused to receive God themselves. Continually we were told, “It’s too late for us. Our lives are near the end. We must learn this so we can teach our children and grandchildren so they can have God.”

We prayed and looked for ways to show them that God’s love and peace were for all but nothing worked. The study continued but our time with them was running out. In a matter of weeks we would be heading back to the States. We decided the following week to be more direct with them as a group and as individuals. We weren’t teaching a history lesson, we were showing them how to find eternal life – regardless of age.

However, I was nervous about this – even as a missionary it wasn’t natural for me. Up to this point my faith was always safe. I kept it to myself unless others asked or if it was part of my job and I was working with another. I didn’t want to offend anyone or be too pushy. I had always played it safe.

The night before our next Bible study we were hit with a late season snowstorm. The sidewalks were covered with ice and snow. Our vets were all elderly. They wore shoes without traction and walked to bus stops. I didn’t think they’d make it. Why had I stalled?

We arrived that morning at the location of our study. My teammate and I shared the same fear – that no one would make it to our study in the snow. As we climbed the stairs to our meeting room we heard voices. “Phew…some of them made it.”

When we walked into the room, it was full! Not just a few but practically all made the journey in the snow. On the verge of tears I shared my amazement of their presence. “Oh Laurichka, of course we came. We are strong. We want to hear your lesson.”

Their eagerness to learn gave us boldness. God’s Spirit gave us the words. That day was a tipping point. They began to open up and receive God’s love for themselves that day.

I figured this study was God’s way of giving those, who had been robbed of the opportunity to learn about Him for 70 plus years, one last chance to receive Him. But…they proved me wrong.

Weeks later we had a party for us to say our good-byes. We were heading back to the States. Every single Babushka and Dedushka showed up. As we sat talking one Babushka began telling us how each week she took our lessons to her daughter’s house and shared all we had taught them with her family. Her daughter and youngest granddaughter had prayed to receive God. However, her oldest granddaughter had been more stubborn. She continued, “But this week I went over again and shared this last lesson. She got on her knees and took God as her own.”

Another lady piped in. She was going to the homes of shut-ins. They wanted to be part of our meetings but due to stairs and lack of wheelchairs, couldn’t make it. She did the same and shared God’s message with them.

I couldn’t believe it. They were earnestly seeking a treasure, walking through snowstorms to get, and found it. But, they didn’t hoard it. They walked through snowstorms to share it – over and over again.

These precious people reminded me that I’ve been given and have received a treasure in Jesus Christ. I shouldn’t be embarrassed to wear it. It’s been given for me to share it with others. If I don’t, I’m selfishly preventing others from receiving their portion of the treasure and there’s more than enough to go around.

This is still a struggle for me. I’m one who doesn’t like to offend others. But maybe that’s part of the problem. I’ve allowed myself to think of the Gospel as offensive when in reality it’s healing water. It’s a treasure to be shared freely, backed with love.

My precious friends in Russia showed me that it’s not offensive when you have a genuine love and trust the Holy Spirit to give you the words. You may meet resistance but God’s love is not offensive. It’s a jewel.

Any thoughts?

Do you have the same struggles or perhaps encouraging words to help those of us who do?