“You’re finally in Mongolia!” Karissa threw her arms around her friend Emily when she saw her at the airport. “We’ve been praying so hard for someone to come help us. I can’t believe it turned out to be your family!"

“I thought we’d be on the plane forever!” Emily rubbed her growling stomach.

“The security people took our peanut butter at the last airport. Mom had brought it to feed us on the plane.”

“Don’t worry—my mom has a big pot of lentil stew waiting back home.” Karissa looked over her shoulder and grabbed Emily’s arm. “Let’s keep up with our parents.”

“Wait—len- what?” Emily pulled back. “Will it be scary to eat? I know the food is different here.”

“You’re still the same Emily—always worried. Yes, it’s actually boiled cat brains.”

“YOU EAT CATS!!” yelled Emily.

“Shhhhh—we’re in public.” Karissa tugged Emily’s arm again. “Lentils are like little beans—they have them back in the States.”

“Whew!” Emily rolled her eyes.

“Look—they’re loading everything. Dad got a taxi, too, because all of your family’s stuff wouldn’t fit in our van. We’d better stay out of the way so they can load it in.”

“Do you have room in your apartment for all of us, Karissa?”

“Well, you’ll have to camp out in the living room with me tonight, but then you guys will have your own apartment. It’s in the building next to ours. Do you want to know what we’re doing tomorrow?”

“You mean, after I sleep?” Emily yawned.

“Of course--but your body will never adjust to the time change if you sleep all day! So, after you get up...in the morning...we’re going shopping. The Sunday School kids are coming to our house for a Christmas party in a couple of days.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you almost ready, Emily? We’re leaving for the store in ten minutes. I’m excited that we get to buy the stuff for decorations and cookies.”

“But what will I say to them?”

“What—to the decorations? You can’t talk to decorations!” Karissa smiled at her friend.

“You know I mean the kids—the ones coming to the party. I don’t even know Mongolian,” Emily worried.

“But you remember “hello” and “My name is Emily”. And besides...they’re just kids, and so are we. We’ll be busy making the craft and cookies, anyway.

“Are any of them Christians?” asked Emily.

“Some of them are.”

“What will we do after we make decorations?” Emily wanted to know.

“We’ll decorate our goodie bags, then we’ll make cookies, and decorate them.

Mongolians don’t make cookies...

“They don’t make cookies!” Emily interrupted.

“... so the kids really have fun rolling out the dough and using the cookie cutters and putting decorations on top. Then, we’ll have a gift exchange while the cookies are baking. After that, we’ll play Pictionary with Mongolian words. Mom gives us words on slips of paper, and we have to draw them on the white board. I don’t know what is more fun, watching the little kids trying to draw their word, or watching the bigger kids trying to figure out the pictures!

“Oh-oh—I’m in trouble there—I can’t speak Mongolian or draw!” said Emily.

“Then,” Karissa went on, “everybody puts their cookies and a Gospel tract in a bag, and the party is over.”

“Is it scary to talk to Mongolian kids about the Lord?” Emily wanted to know.

“Well, no scarier than it is to talk to kids back in the States. Just because you’re a missionary in another country doesn’t mean that you get really brave all of a sudden. It doesn’t mean that you turn into Super Christian, with a big S on your shirt. And you know that we are all missionaries wherever we are.”

Emily laughed. “I know, Karissa. I guess I just wondered what it was like... and if I can be a good missionary here while my parents are helping yours.” Emily yawned. “Who were those people who knocked on your door last night? I heard your dad and mom talking a long time. They were here late, weren’t they!”

“That’s what Mongolians do—they come any time of the day... or night.”

“Can’t you just tell them to phone or come back later, or pretend they’re not there?”

“No, that would be rude. We need to be ready to stop what we’re doing and invite

them in, and then offer them a hot drink. When the people left last night, it was almost midnight.”

“Wow—I thought you guys just had church meetings and visited people.” Emily said.

“We do a lot more than that. Whenever things I want to do get interrupted and I start to feel sorry for myself, my dad reminds me that we aren’t here just for what happens on Sunday or Wednesday or whenever the church is meeting. We are here for the everyday times, like being with friends and neighbours, and anybody else that God brings into our lives. It’s the everyday stuff that I can do with God’s help, because I’m sure not in Mongolia to preach! Oh look—our moms are ready—let’s go.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

“That was one small elevator—we barely fit in there with our moms. It was...creaky. Is it safe?” asked Emily, as the group walked toward the street.

“Mostly, but you never want to take an elevator if there’s a fire nearby.”

“Wow—it’s so smoky outside—is there a fire somewhere?” Emily wondered as they followed their moms to the bus stop.

“Oh, that’s from the ger district.

“You mean, gr-r-r-r, like lions and tigers?

“No, ger as in g-e-r. A ger is a house...well, it’s their kind of house. It’s like a round tent made with skins and felt. Anyway, the people who live in gers use coal to cook with and to keep warm. A lot of gers mean a lot of smoke. Then the smoke just kind of hangs in the air in the city—it doesn’t have any place to go. So, it looks like there’s a fire somewhere.

“They must be really poor to have to live in tents.”

“The poor part about the Mongolian people is the gods they worship. They put them on their god shelves.

“A gotchas...what’s that?”

“No, a god-shelf—a shelf with their gods on it. My Dad said he’d take us tomorrow on his visit—the people live in a ger. But I’ll tell you more later—we’d better catch up to our moms.”

The group walked along the sidewalk through the mist.

“If you close your eyes while you walk, doesn’t it remind you of being back in Oregon? There’s always plenty of mist.” Karissa said.

“...and rain, and drizzle, and sleet...” added Emily.

“...and hail, and snow...we sound like we’re writing a science report for school!” Emily laughed.

“This kind of rain only lasts for a day or two—then it will be colder again. Be careful here—the sidewalk ends. We’ll have to walk in the street,” cautioned Karissa.

“OK—that was a short sidewalk!” Emily stepped into the street. “I’m glad you told me to bring boots—this gutter is full of water. Hey—that bus just sprayed me!” Emily wiped her hands on her coat. “It’s a good thing I’m already wet!

Why is there so much water in the road?”

“The sewers get backed up fast, and pretty soon, the pot holes are covered--EM—

WATCH OUT! Karissa grabbed Emily and pulled her away from the road.

“Wow—that was close—thanks for looking after me, Karissa. Why was that taxi driving up on the shoulder of the street?”

“They don’t want to drive in the pot holes. The buses don’t care though—they’ll go right through. But the taxis try to beat the buses and get around them by driving on the edge. One time we rode in a taxi, and he drove right through the pothole. It almost knocked my teeth out. My dad said that, if the wheel came off, we would have to swim out of the puddle!”

“How could you swim out of a puddle—they’re not that deep?” Emily frowned.

“Oh Em—he was just joking.” Karissa poked her friend. “Here’s the bus stop.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“That was fun going into the stores. My package isn’t very heavy—I’ve got the cotton balls in it. What are we going to do with them?” Emily asked.

“Oh, it’s going to be a surprise. But I can tell you that you’ve never made decorations like these before.”

“No, that’s for sure. What can you make with tinsel, cotton balls, and soap? I know...carve a snowman out of soap and put cotton snow all around him.”

“Wrong,” Karissa said. “You’ll see tomorrow. Oh—here’s our bus home.”

The group climbed into the crowd already standing and stood about half-way back.

It was hard to see out the windows. Emily concentrated on not falling over while the bus swayed, bumped and stopped to let on more people.

“Karissa, why are you pushing me?” Emily whispered to her friend behind her.

“I’m not, Emily.”

“Well, somebody is, and if I’m squished any more, I’ll pop!” Then she noticed the man right next to her, moving forward toward their moms.

“There are Americans—help me!” The man suddenly cried out. Soon, another man elbowed through the crowd over to their moms, and Emily practically fell into the lap of an older lady.

“Stay close, girls!” Karissa’s mom called out. The girls tried to move closer, but with everyone pushing together, no one moved.

“What’s happening? Is he afraid of us? Why does he need help? I’m scared!”

Emily’s voice sounded loud to herself.

“Sh-h-h-h, Em—he might be a pick-pocket!” Karissa warned.

“Ah-h-h...I’m going to die in a bus in Mongo-”

Karissa clapped her hand over Emily’s mouth. “They won’t hurt us here—they just want our money. Just pray.”

Suddenly, the bus screeched to a stop.

“Girls, come with me now!” Karissa’s mom’s voice was loud above the noise around them.

“Help—let go! Where am I going?” Emily felt someone pulling her arm.

“This is our stop. Just keep pushing towards the door!” Karissa said, tugging her friend. Then she was gone, and Emily could see only the two men who had been pushing them. They were right in front of her, blocking the way.

“Jesus, please help me to get off this bus.” She closed her eyes, took a big breath, and pushed toward the door as hard as she could.

“Emily, look out—you’ll fall down the steps!” her mom’s voice was close, and Emily opened her eyes and jumped, hoping she’d land on her feet.

The bus roared off, and the girls ran to their moms. As Karissa pulled away from a hug, her finger caught on the pocket. “Mom, look at your coat—what happened?

“The pickpockets were trying to cut a hole in the bottom of it.”

“Why cut your coat?” asked Emily.

“When they saw I didn’t have a purse, they thought I had money in my pocket and were trying to get to it. When they see Americans, they think we have lots of money.”

“Wow—that was scary!” said Emily.

“Girls, let’s thank the Lord for protecting us.” Karissa’s mom prayed as they bowed their heads by the bus stop.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I wish my dad hadn’t gotten sick.” Emily looked out the car window at some little white dots in the distance.

“He’ll be able to come next time—believe me, my dad makes lots of visits out here to the country,” said Karissa.

“Are those gers?” Emily asked, as the white dots got bigger.

“Yes,” said Karissa.

“From here they look like a marshmallow cut in half, and a kind of pointy white roof. Who are the people that we are visiting again?” Emily wanted to know.

“These are Chuluun and Bayarmaa . They’ve been coming to our church off and on, and my Dad has Bible studies with them in their ger. Now you’ll get to see what one really looks like.” Karissa said.

“Wow—it’s a long way out here. Will I get to see the god shelf?” Emily asked.

The car stopped in front of a little fence. A man came out and stood watching them. Pastor Scott greeted the man, then motioned for the girls to follow.

Inside the ger, the girls sat quietly as the adults talked. It seemed like a long time, but it gave her a chance to look around. The ger looked bigger on the inside. It seemed funny to be in a round house. Without trying to stare too much, Emily looked around for the god shelf. Oh—there---right above Pastor Scott’s head-- she could see it without twisting her head around like an owl. There were little wooden things on it—like the pictures of idols she had seen, only smaller. Then there were some pictures in a frame, and a little vase with a stick in it—incense—Emily had seen that back in some stores in Oregon. Emily shivered. I wouldn’t want those in my home, she thought. Then she thought, if we had god shelves back in the States, what kind of things would people put up there? Maybe a cell phone—she knew kids that were always texting their friends or talking on them.

Maybe a TV remote-control, or a jar of money. Suddenly, Pastor Scott was talking and pointing to the shelf. He was frowning. Had he seen her looking at it? Had she done something wrong? Bayarmaa and Chuluun talked with him a little longer, and soon they were saying goodbye and Emily was following Karissa out to the car.

Except for listening to the creaking and squeaking of the car on the dirt road, the ride back was quiet. What did Pastor Scott say to those people about the god shelf? Why is he so quiet? Maybe he’s worried about his car breaking down. As they got close to the city, Karissa asked,

“Daddy, what were you saying to Chuluum and Bayarmaa about the god shelf?”

Emily smiled at her friend. Karissa knows I want to hear about it, but I’m too shy to ask.

“Well, honey, Chuluun told me that he and Bayarmaa believed in Jesus.”

“Oh, that’s exciting,” burst out Emily, “...isn’t it?” But Pastor Scott didn’t seem too pleased.

“Yes and no,” he continued. “Then they asked if they could have a picture of Jesus to put on their shelf. I asked them that, if they really believed in Jesus, what would they do about their gods on the shelf?”

“Oh—I hadn’t thought of that,” said Karissa. “I know that you’ve taught them over and over that there is only one true God, and that all of the others are false.”

“So...,” Emily joined in, “if they really believed in Jesus, they would show it—they would take down their idols.”

“Not only would they take them down, Emily—they would burn them!” Pastor Scott pulled into their parking spot and turned off the motor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Karissa, wasn’t your Dad being a little rude to tell those people to burn their gods? I mean, what would their family think?” Emily was sitting on Karissa’s bed, braiding her friend’s hair.

“But Emily, if they just took them down, they could just put them back up whenever they wanted to, like when their family came over. My dad wants them to understand and show that they are Christians by their life, not just with their mouths. Yes, their family might be mad if they burned their gods, and might not want to be around them, which would be really hard. But,” Karissa sat up straighter, “they would be building their house on a rock, and not sand, like the song we used to sing in church.”

“That is true. At first, I guess I was kind of mad at your Dad—it seemed like a mean thing to say.” Emily sighed. “But it must make him a little sad that they still don’t seem to understand it, especially after all that he’s taught them about the One true God, and after driving all that way so many times, too. For me, it would be kind of like when I play a board game, and get a card that sends me back to “start”.

I have to play the game all over again. Emily paused, “It’s hard work being a missionary, isn’t it?” She tugged on Karissa’s braids. “There—I think these are even. Karissa, should we pray for Chuluum and Bayarmaa? I know I can’t talk to them, but my prayers would be important.”

“Good idea, Emily do you want to start?”

“OK...Dear Jesus, thank you that we got to visit Chuluum and Bayarmaa. Please help them to think about what Pastor Scott said about burning their idols, and help his words to bother them until they do it...Amen.

“And Jesus, help them to remember what my Dad has taught them. Help them to be brave, and not scared about what their family might say or do. Help us to be brave missionaries when the kids come over today...amen. Now we need to finish helping our moms get ready for the party.”

“Karissa, why don’t Mongolians celebrate Christmas, and why are we making Christmas decorations?” Emily asked as they got out the things they had bought.

“A long time ago, when the Russians came to Mongolia, the Mongolians started to celebrate New Year’s Eve with them on Dec. 31. So, they kind of mix that day with Christmas. The day of Jesus’ birth is not important to them. We just have our own family time by ourselves...except this year, we get to have it with you!

“Yea...I’m so excited...but I saw signs for Christmas sales in the stores,” said Emily.

“My dad says that they are just trying to make money—they’re not really for Christmas,” Karissa told her. “Oh—that must be the kids now,” she said as someone knocked at the door.

“Now I’m really nervous!” Emily worried.

“Just do what I do, and have fun. You can say something when you’re ready.” Karissa said.

Soon Karissa’s mom had the kids around the table.

“What is your name?” a girl spoke English to Emily.

“Emily....what is your name?” Emily asked in careful Mongolian.

The girl smiled and nodded, then started speaking very quickly in Mongolian.

“Help, Karissa—what is she saying?”

“Oh—she thinks you can speak Mongolian because you asked her a question. I’ll tell her you can’t say much, but would like to learn.” Karissa said.

The girl listened as Karissa talked to her. Then she nodded and smiled at Emily.

“I help you,” she said slowly.

“Thank you,” replied Emily, smiling back.

“Now, watch how we make the decorations,” Karissa explained. “You’re going to need the cotton balls and the tinsel. See how my mom is shaving off bits of her bar of laundry soap? Now we pick up the bits and put them into the water. You have to mix it carefully—like this. Then, you just dip your cotton ball in the soapy water. When everybody has done a few, we’ll stick them on the end of pieces of tinsel--or in the middle of them--then throw them up at the ceiling. They’ll stick there, and then dry. It looks really neat.

“My mom would really not like that if we did it at our house!” Emily exclaimed.

“Well, you’re in Mongolia now, remember, so it’s OK—my mom is used to it by now, or at least she pretends she is!” Karissa smiled at her.

Soon the kids were laughing and throwing their tinsel balls at the ceiling together.

“Mine aren’t sticking very well.” Emily sighed.

“You need more soap on yours. Don’t worry—you’ll get the hang of it.” Karissa laughed.

“Oh—I get it—you mean, like, hanging from the ceiling!” laughed Emily.

“Wow—you are quick—I didn’t even have to explain the joke!” Karissa stuck a wet cotton ball on her friend’s forehead. “Let’s see how well you do at playing Pictionary!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ohhhhhhhh...I can’t eat another bite!” Emily groaned.

“Well, who made you go up for seconds on pie?” Karissa teased her friend. “Just look at this mess—bows, paper, boxes...I’m so glad you could be here for our family Christmas!

“Me too! We’ll have it cleaned up so fast...besides, I’d rather do this than dishes!”
Emily said.

“I still can’t believe that Chuluum and Bayarmaa just knocked on the door a few minutes ago,” Karissa said, wadding up paper. “While my mom was getting hot drinks and they were talking, I thought for sure that they were really mad at us or something.”

“Did you see your dad’s face when he was translating for us?” Emily smiled. “He said, ‘Everyone, Chuluum and Bayarmaa have some good news. When we visited last week, they told us all of the reasons they couldn’t burn their idols. But, they said that they just couldn’t pull my words out of their hearts. So, they decided to throw all of their gods in the fire, and take down their god shelf. And, after a week, they are still so happy and have no regrets.’ Karissa, the Lord answered our prayers!”

“Let’s thank Him right now...I think this mess can wait a couple of minutes,”

Karissa said, sitting down next to her friend.

“And we can start a regular prayer time together! But, from now on, let’s pray for more than one family at a time!” Emily said, closing her eyes.

Story questions:

1. Where is Mongolia? Why did Emily’s family come to Mongolia?

2. List things that a missionary does in their country

3. What can missionary kids do to help people to know about Jesus?

4. Why did the pickpockets think Karissa’s mom had money? Why did they think Americans have money?

5. What do missionary kids do that are the same as kids in the States? Different?

6. How would you know that a Mongolian was really saved?

7. How would you know if a kid in the States is really saved?

8. How would Karissa and Emily start a prayer time together? What would they pray about?

9. If it takes a long time for people to get saved, does that mean the missionary is lazy, or that they are doing their missionary work the wrong way? Why or why not?

10. Choose a missionary to pray for this year:

-Read their prayer letters

-Find out all you can about them, their ministry, and their country

-Make a list of prayer requests for them (hint: how would you want someone to pray for you?). If they have kids, ask if you can be their pen pal; ask how you can pray for them

-Write to them about how you are praying for them

-Share the news with your class or friends

Story ideas from http://mongolia-ministry.blogspot.com/- see this site for pictures

-for pictures of a ger, see- www.bluepeak.net/mongolia/ger.html


Also read at http://www.gfamissions.org/field-stories/