The fullness of a clear sky

 “Do you have a minute?”

“When?”

“Right now.”
“Sure.”

“Ok, hang on a sec…”

He ran upstairs to grab the gifts he’d bought: two packs of Kent #4s and a collection of Jim Carrey movies on DVD. Throwing them in a clear plastic folder, he ran down the steps and followed Adilet outside to the driveway.

“I know it’s a couple hours early, but…happy birthday!”

“Wow, thank you!” he said, lighting up. “Ah, Jim Carrey’s good!”

They stood for a moment breathing in the sharp mix of night. “It will be sad to see you go,” Adilet said, his hand to his chest.

“I’ll miss you too.”

He tipped his head and looked up at the glistening drops of light, sprinkled across the sky. One star fell, then another, gracing each cheek before falling into the darkness below.

Backseat Watermelon

A car horn hit several times, its sound a call for patrons to the dusty fruit stand on wheels. Their dad purchased one from the tumbled pile – weighed out carefully on an ancient scale strapped to the hood – shook hands and walked it to their house, pulling out a low table and legless chairs. He split the watermelon down the middle, spinning it around a short knife, serving it in wide wedges with forks and spoons, the daughters drinking the juice and spilling it down their shirts, the second change of clothes for the day. The sticky smile behind bright red lips, eyes squinted in the warmth of the sun, a father laughing and getting ready to go. Their mother pushed them outside, down the road, their eyes missing the leaving glance of their dad, headed to work.

Spin

The last fingers of dusk slipped from the horizon, the sun falling from the day to the other side of the globe, lighting continents in other oceans, other people, other waters, ships floating on waves of sunlit water, islands, sleepy islands rubbing their eyes, awakening their vegetation to the presence of another day. Here to this side the sun would climb again, hand over hand around the curve of the sphere, grabbing ahold of ice-capped rocks, stepping lightly in narrow canyons, circling ever circling, light filtering through clouds, through jungles, deep jungles and jagged cliffs, painting the earth yellow and bright.

Isus arkyluu tynchtyk kelilet

In this blog I’ve been purposefully writing in the third person in order to better explore the things I’ve experienced. I try to write creatively and step outside of myself to reflect on what I’ve observed. The following story, however, hit me too close and I can express it in no other way than in the first person, as it happened.

I was returning home tonight along the dirt road between my workplace and home. A group of local teachers, university students and I had just finished viewing an evening webinar in the FORUM office and it had grown dark. The night was crisp but I kept myself warm by singing songs and enjoying the walk.

On one of the blocks, I passed a group of cars parked with headlights on, and several Kyrgyz men and women standing in tight groups conversing. A few meters beyond sat two yurts, constructed on either side of one house’s short driveway. “Oh, a party!” I thought and continued walking, turning to look in the yard. In front of each yurt sat partygoers, and one man was bent over about to loose the vodka he had imbibed. A second wobbly man was being helped over to a stool.

People started to sing and I turned and smiled, enjoying the scene. Suddenly, my feet froze to the earth as the horror crept slowly up my throat. It was a funeral. And they were wailing.

The scene unfolded quickly. A group arrived and approached the line of men that had formed, bent double, their foreheads resting on short staves. A man’s voice warbled and broke as calls came out at will from the approaching group. They embraced the men, then walked up the driveway quietly. I stood, my feet still frozen in place as a woman began to sob.

Hot tears pushed their way down my cheeks and suddenly I was sobbing too. I had been to sad funerals before, but this was different. When people die in Christ there is surety in the hope and joy of their presence with Jesus. This was a scene of utter fear and despair.

I turned to go, still crying, and not yet making the connection to the song I had been singing when I came upon the funeral. The lyrics come from Isaiah 40:

“Do you not know? Have you not heard? The LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth…”

I looked heavenward; the night sky was overcome by stars, shining brilliantly on the earth below. These stars screamed the glory of God, a creator who gave them each a name and calls them forth one by one.

“Behold, the Lord GOD comes with might, and his arm rules for him; behold, his reward is with him, and his recompense before him. He will tend his flock like a shepherd, he will gather the lambs in his arms…”

We the created have a God who loves us like a shepherd – a God who leaves the 99 to seek and save the one sheep that is lost. God is here in Kyrgyzstan. He has gone before us in shaping the mountains and lakes, hills and trees and reaches out to each of us, that we might turn and reach out to Him.

I pray for the relatives and friends of the life that was lost. I pray that you, LORD, would make yourself known to them and that they would know the joy and hope for eternity that is only found in you. Amen.