Part Three: Going to Moldova
Tension between the board and me had been growing since Christmas. It may sound strange to say that my mission board was against me, but that is how I felt sometimes. One point of disagreement was that they did not want me to visit different churches and raise my own money. This had been communicated to me by suggestion earlier, but not in an authoritative way. They wanted me to pray in my support in the prayer room. The missionaries that were in town met twice a day in the prayer room. I thought this was a good idea, but I was also determined to raise my own support in local churches that believed as we did. The problem with the Tennessee board was simple: nothing was in writing and nothing was clearly communicated. It also became obvious to me that they wanted to raise all the missionaries’ support through the camp meetings. Later I discerned that this was a method of controlling the missionaries and their activities. If I had seen this at the beginning, I would never have joined their board. Looking back on it now, God blinded my eyes to this and had a purpose for my going with this board.
I would rather skip over this next part, but it is an essential part of what happened in our early missionary experience. I need to tell this story, so people can understand that God has a plan even in adverse situations. If I had rebelled against those in authority over me, I would have missed out on Tiraspol and the great blessings there. Sometimes we have to stay put and let God do His work, even if it is uncomfortable and illogical.
When the pastor/director of the board told me that we couldn’t go to the Ukraine yet, Stephanie and I were devastated. Our first impulses were to fight the decision. I had a calm discussion with the director and saw he was firm in his decision. He had been in conference with the young man he had appointed director in Europe, and they decided over the phone that they didn’t need me in Europe now. They had also decided that, when they did need me, I would be sent to Bulgaria first. My wife and I decided that we could not resign and look for another board due to the time considerations. We did not have peace with resigning, so we decided to just pray. God had known about this, and He knew the situation better than we did. We were going to trust the Lord in all of this and learn to turn the other cheek, just as the scriptures said. During this time everyone at the board treated us like we had leprosy.
One day in early May, 1993, the director called me into the office. He told me I could go, but not the family. He said I was only being allowed to go, so I could see first hand that I was unprepared. I would go to Bulgaria and then visit the Ukraine for a short while and then return to Tennessee. I was given two months for this trip. I had already decided to submit to whatever the Board had to say and trust God. However, this was the best news I had heard in a month. I packed everything I could carry and sent my wife and children back to Florida to be with her folks. I knew, by God’s grace, I would not be returning to Tennessee.
I was met in Bulgaria by a stern-faced man named Carl who was about five years younger than I was. I had never met a man who was uglier in his treatment of me than Carl was. He was the European director for the board, and he was in charge. He had a small group of young men that followed him without question, and he had the ear of the elderly State-side director. It was clear to me that his job was to force me to resign as a missionary. Every day for more than a month I suffered because of Carl’s abusive behavior to me. There were days that the old Eric wanted to raise up and give this young man a good thrashing, but God’s grace was at work in my life. While this was one of the most unpleasant things I have ever had to endure, I have little doubt in my heart that it was one of the reasons we were able to succeed in Moldova. My broken and contrite heart would not be rejected by God. God had me right were He wanted me, and I understood it. I had to be humbled, if God was going to use me, and He had chosen Carl as His instrument to humble me.
After an uneventful month in Bulgaria, a small group of us finally boarded a plane for the Ukraine. It was early June. I had over-heard several conversations about an apartment that had been rented in an area called Transnestria, which was only an hour and a half drive from Odessa, Ukraine. I did not understand at that time that Transnestria was part of Moldova. It was clear from the talk that none of the missionaries from the board wanted to go over there. I asked Carl if I could look at the apartment and survey the area. To my surprise, he agreed. A few days after arriving in Odessa, we were off to the city of Tiraspol, the capital of Transnestria. I was impressed with the beauty of this little Russian-speaking city. The city sits on the Dnester River and is very green with many trees. There were relatively few cars compared with Odessa. After looking at the apartment, which was very nice compared to others we had seen and stayed at, I was sure this was the place God had prepared for us. I had such a peace and longing to stay there; it was just indescribable.
That evening I had a long talk with Carl about staying in Tiraspol and sending for my family to join me. He gave me all his reasons why I couldn’t stay, but in the end he agreed to let the State-side director decide. The next day I talked with the director on the phone, and he gave his consent. I could tell Carl was angry, but it was decided. That evening he dropped me and my luggage off at the apartment. He informed me that I could not contact their translator for help. This would have been very difficult anyway, because I did not have his phone number or address. I had no local money, no food or cooking utensils in the apartment, no telephone or transportation. I did not know where to buy things or how to survive there. Without knowing Russian, it was an impossible situation. On his way out the door Carl turned and said, “You won’t last six months.” That was the last thing he said to me, and he was gone. In my wildest dreams I would never have thought that a Christian could do this to another brother, but it happened just as I described. I would see Carl several more times over the next few months; he would go with me to pick up my family in Kiev. He would visit my church plant in November. But in about six months, he would break his angle and leave Moldova. The curse he placed on me fell back on him.
But that first night I was more alone than I had ever been in my life. I was in a strange city with no one to help me. I stood alone on the balcony in my tenth-floor apartment that night and looked out on the children and adults in the courtyard and prayed. I told the Lord that Carl was right, “I will not last here if You don’t help me.” I had no supper that night and no plans for breakfast the next day. I slept peacefully that night with the full understanding that God had not brought me there to die.
The next morning about nine o’clock there was a knock on my door. Of course, I was a bit apprehensive to open the door. I couldn’t speak Russian and couldn’t imagine who could possibly be there. To my surprise it was the translator, whom I had only met once a few days before. Isaac Vinogradoff was his name, and he would become one of my best friends in those early years of my missionary life. Isaac’s life story is fascinating, but I will save that for another time. That morning in 1993 he was like an angel sent by God to help me in a desperate situation.
That morning that Isaac showed up at my door, he told me Carl had come by the night before and said he was not to visit me or help me in any way. Isaac would later confess to me that he could not understand this behavior but was willing to do as he was told since they were paying him. Isaac told me an interesting story that first morning. He woke about several times during the night; as he was making his breakfast, he thought he heard a voice in his apartment. The voice seemed to say, “Go help that American.” It seemed so real to him that he searched his apartment for someone. Two more times he heard the voice say the same thing; it shook him up quite a bit, and he figured he had better obey. He left his breakfast on the stove and came to my apartment on the other side of town. Isaac asked me if that voice might have been God. My response was, “Yes, I believe it was.”
What did I learn from all of this? First I learned that God has a plan, and I must be submissive to that plan. I learned to stop fighting and let God be God. I was brought up to fight for my rights and stand up for myself. I learned that it is better to follow God and turn the other cheek when I am persecuted. Unfortunately, in this age of carnal Christians, my greatest attacks would not come from the Orthodox or the Communists but from those that should have been my brothers. Two missionaries I helped have stolen church plants from us. I have been attacked by brothers whom I would have died for. Letters have been sent out with false accusations, etc…. In every case I have tried to respond in a Christ like manner. In most cases I have not defended myself or retaliated but left that to God. Those early lessons have kept us in the place of blessing, and I’m so thankful for what God did.
Tension between the board and me had been growing since Christmas. It may sound strange to say that my mission board was against me, but that is how I felt sometimes. One point of disagreement was that they did not want me to visit different churches and raise my own money. This had been communicated to me by suggestion earlier, but not in an authoritative way. They wanted me to pray in my support in the prayer room. The missionaries that were in town met twice a day in the prayer room. I thought this was a good idea, but I was also determined to raise my own support in local churches that believed as we did. The problem with the Tennessee board was simple: nothing was in writing and nothing was clearly communicated. It also became obvious to me that they wanted to raise all the missionaries’ support through the camp meetings. Later I discerned that this was a method of controlling the missionaries and their activities. If I had seen this at the beginning, I would never have joined their board. Looking back on it now, God blinded my eyes to this and had a purpose for my going with this board.
I would rather skip over this next part, but it is an essential part of what happened in our early missionary experience. I need to tell this story, so people can understand that God has a plan even in adverse situations. If I had rebelled against those in authority over me, I would have missed out on Tiraspol and the great blessings there. Sometimes we have to stay put and let God do His work, even if it is uncomfortable and illogical.
When the pastor/director of the board told me that we couldn’t go to the Ukraine yet, Stephanie and I were devastated. Our first impulses were to fight the decision. I had a calm discussion with the director and saw he was firm in his decision. He had been in conference with the young man he had appointed director in Europe, and they decided over the phone that they didn’t need me in Europe now. They had also decided that, when they did need me, I would be sent to Bulgaria first. My wife and I decided that we could not resign and look for another board due to the time considerations. We did not have peace with resigning, so we decided to just pray. God had known about this, and He knew the situation better than we did. We were going to trust the Lord in all of this and learn to turn the other cheek, just as the scriptures said. During this time everyone at the board treated us like we had leprosy.
One day in early May, 1993, the director called me into the office. He told me I could go, but not the family. He said I was only being allowed to go, so I could see first hand that I was unprepared. I would go to Bulgaria and then visit the Ukraine for a short while and then return to Tennessee. I was given two months for this trip. I had already decided to submit to whatever the Board had to say and trust God. However, this was the best news I had heard in a month. I packed everything I could carry and sent my wife and children back to Florida to be with her folks. I knew, by God’s grace, I would not be returning to Tennessee.
I was met in Bulgaria by a stern-faced man named Carl who was about five years younger than I was. I had never met a man who was uglier in his treatment of me than Carl was. He was the European director for the board, and he was in charge. He had a small group of young men that followed him without question, and he had the ear of the elderly State-side director. It was clear to me that his job was to force me to resign as a missionary. Every day for more than a month I suffered because of Carl’s abusive behavior to me. There were days that the old Eric wanted to raise up and give this young man a good thrashing, but God’s grace was at work in my life. While this was one of the most unpleasant things I have ever had to endure, I have little doubt in my heart that it was one of the reasons we were able to succeed in Moldova. My broken and contrite heart would not be rejected by God. God had me right were He wanted me, and I understood it. I had to be humbled, if God was going to use me, and He had chosen Carl as His instrument to humble me.
After an uneventful month in Bulgaria, a small group of us finally boarded a plane for the Ukraine. It was early June. I had over-heard several conversations about an apartment that had been rented in an area called Transnestria, which was only an hour and a half drive from Odessa, Ukraine. I did not understand at that time that Transnestria was part of Moldova. It was clear from the talk that none of the missionaries from the board wanted to go over there. I asked Carl if I could look at the apartment and survey the area. To my surprise, he agreed. A few days after arriving in Odessa, we were off to the city of Tiraspol, the capital of Transnestria. I was impressed with the beauty of this little Russian-speaking city. The city sits on the Dnester River and is very green with many trees. There were relatively few cars compared with Odessa. After looking at the apartment, which was very nice compared to others we had seen and stayed at, I was sure this was the place God had prepared for us. I had such a peace and longing to stay there; it was just indescribable.
That evening I had a long talk with Carl about staying in Tiraspol and sending for my family to join me. He gave me all his reasons why I couldn’t stay, but in the end he agreed to let the State-side director decide. The next day I talked with the director on the phone, and he gave his consent. I could tell Carl was angry, but it was decided. That evening he dropped me and my luggage off at the apartment. He informed me that I could not contact their translator for help. This would have been very difficult anyway, because I did not have his phone number or address. I had no local money, no food or cooking utensils in the apartment, no telephone or transportation. I did not know where to buy things or how to survive there. Without knowing Russian, it was an impossible situation. On his way out the door Carl turned and said, “You won’t last six months.” That was the last thing he said to me, and he was gone. In my wildest dreams I would never have thought that a Christian could do this to another brother, but it happened just as I described. I would see Carl several more times over the next few months; he would go with me to pick up my family in Kiev. He would visit my church plant in November. But in about six months, he would break his angle and leave Moldova. The curse he placed on me fell back on him.
But that first night I was more alone than I had ever been in my life. I was in a strange city with no one to help me. I stood alone on the balcony in my tenth-floor apartment that night and looked out on the children and adults in the courtyard and prayed. I told the Lord that Carl was right, “I will not last here if You don’t help me.” I had no supper that night and no plans for breakfast the next day. I slept peacefully that night with the full understanding that God had not brought me there to die.
The next morning about nine o’clock there was a knock on my door. Of course, I was a bit apprehensive to open the door. I couldn’t speak Russian and couldn’t imagine who could possibly be there. To my surprise it was the translator, whom I had only met once a few days before. Isaac Vinogradoff was his name, and he would become one of my best friends in those early years of my missionary life. Isaac’s life story is fascinating, but I will save that for another time. That morning in 1993 he was like an angel sent by God to help me in a desperate situation.
That morning that Isaac showed up at my door, he told me Carl had come by the night before and said he was not to visit me or help me in any way. Isaac would later confess to me that he could not understand this behavior but was willing to do as he was told since they were paying him. Isaac told me an interesting story that first morning. He woke about several times during the night; as he was making his breakfast, he thought he heard a voice in his apartment. The voice seemed to say, “Go help that American.” It seemed so real to him that he searched his apartment for someone. Two more times he heard the voice say the same thing; it shook him up quite a bit, and he figured he had better obey. He left his breakfast on the stove and came to my apartment on the other side of town. Isaac asked me if that voice might have been God. My response was, “Yes, I believe it was.”
What did I learn from all of this? First I learned that God has a plan, and I must be submissive to that plan. I learned to stop fighting and let God be God. I was brought up to fight for my rights and stand up for myself. I learned that it is better to follow God and turn the other cheek when I am persecuted. Unfortunately, in this age of carnal Christians, my greatest attacks would not come from the Orthodox or the Communists but from those that should have been my brothers. Two missionaries I helped have stolen church plants from us. I have been attacked by brothers whom I would have died for. Letters have been sent out with false accusations, etc…. In every case I have tried to respond in a Christ like manner. In most cases I have not defended myself or retaliated but left that to God. Those early lessons have kept us in the place of blessing, and I’m so thankful for what God did.
