‘For such a time as this’

Note: Identifying details are withheld to preserve the privacy of the ministry.

A typical Winnipeg winter scene is shown in this stock photo. Winter can be an isolating time, especially for refugees far from home and family. (iStockphoto.com)

It was the last day of my children’s first week of school. Every morning, I walk with them to school and cry on the way back because I’ve discovered that crying warms your eyes, and you need all the warmth you can get when you’re walking in minus-forty degrees. That morning, I dropped the children off as usual and began the walk home. The tears came again, but this time they were not for warmth. They were tears of guilt, a deep aching guilt that I was walking safely in a peaceful country while my people were dying under bombardment and destruction.

We moved to Winnipeg after a very clear calling from God, and I never questioned my presence here. Yet, my heart remained in my country. I cried and asked God, Why am I here and not serving my people, who are in dire need of service—spiritually, mentally, and physically?

I came home and tried to stop crying, to live normally and support my husband in his ministry, but deep inside, I faced an inner conflict of guilt and the struggle to adapt to a new life far from home. The days dragged on, especially during the harsh winters, but the Lord’s work in the church my husband had planted encouraged us, and the kindness of the people of Winnipeg eased the difficulty of adjustment. Still, the turmoil in my heart did not go away and I was unable to do anything but pray.

As a family, we asked the Lord to show us how to pray for our region, according to his heart, and the Lord led us to pray that through all the suffering, he would open doors for my people to know him and encounter his love. We prayed faithfully and continued to serve where we were planted. The word of the Lord was growing in the church, and the services grew, but the turmoil in my heart continued, and the same question remained: Is this all? Why don’t I feel at peace and why do I feel like there is more?

Two years had passed and the situation in my homeland became extreme. There were killings, destruction, rape, and displacement. I kept praying with tears, guilt, inadequacy and a desire to do more.

Then one day, we received an invitation to help receive the refugees that Canada was about to welcome. I couldn’t believe what I had heard. We rushed to volunteer, not only to ease the burden of guilt, but above all, it was a wonderful opportunity to tell them about the Lord’s care, love and salvation.

Suddenly, I understood that the Lord had answered my question. Is this all, or is there more? The Lord reminded me of Esther 4:14: “Yet who knows whether you have come to the kingdom for such a time as this?” (NKJV).

I don’t remember the first family we welcomed at the airport, but I still remember their joy at hearing someone from their own country greet them in their own language. I still remember how overwhelmed I felt from the responsibility of translating and answering all their questions, including where they could find familiar foods and bread that tasted like home.

I had no experience in welcoming or helping refugees, but I had a strong desire and a calling from the Lord to do so. The Lord opened doors for me to meet many, many families from my country. I would visit the women, cook beside them, share their grief for our country, and cry with them because we missed our mothers and families. I would go with them to clinics, hospitals and markets, translating emails, messages and phone calls. Over time, some of them began asking us to pray for their needs and for their children who were still at war and in danger. The beautiful thing was that God answered their prayers, and they felt there was something special about this God.

I had no experience in welcoming or helping refugees, but I had a strong desire and a calling from the Lord to do so.

After several years of serving refugees, we realized we needed to take time to follow up with them spiritually. I began organizing small gatherings in women’s homes, and it was a special time where you could feel their spiritual thirst for knowledge, their faith in the power of prayer and their desperate need for the Lord to touch every part of their lives. After holding several meetings, one of the husbands told me, “We want a meeting for men as well.” I smiled and said, “I will tell my husband.” So, he began meeting with the men, but after several meetings, he decided it would be better to bring families together, which turned out to be a new church plant.

When I look back on those early days, I see how beautiful it is to submit to the Lord’s work. You don’t just serve by yourself, you serve with the Lord. You don’t make plans, you follow the Lord’s plan. You don’t rely on logic, you pray and you wait for the Lord’s work.

And so, when I ask again, Why am I here, and is there more? the Lord’s answer is clear: I am here to help my people and to witness and minister to more people coming to the Lord than I have ever seen before.

Was it worth it? Was it worth leaving my home, my mother, my brother? Was it worth it to start over again, with all the exhaustion and uncertainty that brings? Was it worth it for my children to grow up alone, not knowing their extended families?

Of course it was. Because those who put their hands to the plow should never look back, and those who leave behind their earthly family are compensated by the Lord, with many spiritual brothers and sisters.

Did I ever imagine I would serve my people in a foreign land? Did I know the Lord would use us to plant two churches here? Did I dream that I would serve in a church filled with people who come from a non-Christian background?

Of course not. But today, I see how the Lord used all the tears, the guilt, the distance, and the waiting, as part of his greater plan. And I feel the love, prayers and faith of the people of Winnipeg, who have become part of this story, this great work of God that began with a simple, tearful walk home from school.