A Story To Tell

Have you heard of that book "When Helping Hurts?" And all those new ideas emerging about Christian missions and community development? A lot of people are jumping on board with it, and I think it's just fantastic.

The guy who wrote that book says we should be asking people what their dreams are. Instead of giving them material goods, we should be honoring them as people and giving them the tools they need to succeed for themselves. He says we should ask them "what are your dreams?" and "what are the obstacles keeping you from your dreams?"

The whole idea is to empower people in materially poor cultures to thrive in their own right, not simply as recipients of charity.

I have a story to tell which comes to mind each time I talk about these ideas. When I was in Russia two summers ago, living with the Kvashens (this is them:),



I decided one day to climb a mountain. The boys and I did this a couple times that summer, along with the Kutsenko kids (these guys are two of them:).


Anyway, so we climbed a mountain up to a really pretty waterfall that didn't seem safe because it probably wasn't. And I remember on that particular hike I was talking a lot with Oleg, the oldest of the Kutsenko kids (not pictured), about 18 years old. Talking about music, hobbies, America, Russia...whatever. Also, he talks really fast and I understood about half of our conversation. But still.

When we finally got back down to the dirt road we lived on, having escaped death by a small margin climbing down that mountain, I remember he asked me this question: what are your dreams?

What are your dreams. What are my dreams. The kid asked me what my dreams were.

And I just thought, "Wow. God really does turn things upside down, because I came to Russia to help them with their dreams. And here they are, being 'missionaries' to me."

Humbling, right?

I didn't have an answer for Oleg that day, at least not one I could put into Russian words. I have lots of dreams, like we all do, but somehow they're mostly connected to that place. That dirt road in that city by that river where Oleg asked me what my dreams were.

When I was 16, mom took me to New York City for the first time, and one day we went to Ellis Island. And lots of people go there to find the names of their ancestors who came over to America on boats, and then they go to the gift shop and buy bumper stickers or magnets with their motherland on them. Italian Americans buy "Italy" magnets, you know, and that sort of thing. Now, I realize my family is straight up British, straight up English, but I didn't care about buying an "England" t-shirt, because I went right over to the Russia section and bought a bumper sticker that says "RUS."

I may have English blood in me, but my dreams bleed Russian. And that's all I know about my dreams for now.

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