Mission to Montenegro newsletter

In the lead up to Christmas on Jan. 7,  Stan preached two  messages focusing on Jesus coming into the world as Savior, the Messiah who will tell us all things. (John 4: 25).

On Christmas itself (a Tuesday), we enjoyed a 'church family service' at the home of one of the church members: Rade and his wife, Ivana, plus their 2 boys, Stefan and Danilo.  Rade gave a short devotional.  We sang the one Christmas song that people know by heart (Tiha Noć which is Silent Night).  All the children got a small gift.  

Ivana had prepared the normal "We have guests!" spread:  smoked meats, roasted meats, Russian Salad, bread, and cakes.  That part was a surprise!  It was a good thing that we hadn't had any breakfast, just coffee that morning, before going over. 

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Now that the holidays are over, Stan is beginning a new series in our morning services, covering the epistle to the Colossians. He began with an overview of the big picture: that Paul wrote the letter to encourage the young church to stand firm in the true faith they had been taught: receiving Christ and Christ alone is all and everything necessary for salvation and abundant blessings.

In the evening, Stan has just begun Rev. 21, with the glorious description of our future:  All Things New!  No more death, nor sorrow, nor crying!  God Himself will be with [us] and be [our] God! (v. 3-5)

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Please pray for the salvation of those who hear God's Word preached--those coming and those who listen online.

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As a nation, Montenegro reeled under the tragic mass murder in Cetinje at the beginning of the year.  Hotlines for counseling were set-up.  Government agencies began looking anew at lax gun regulations.  People are still talking and thinking about deeper matters and wondering what is happening in the world.

Please pray for Montenegro and for God’s people to compassionately point out the truth of sin, man’s fallen nature, our need to repent, God’s love and Jesus’s atoning work. Hopelessness is not the answer; Jesus is.
 

Stan and Vicki Surbatovich

Last month we were invited to the slava celebration of some family friends (St. Nikola, Dec. 19).   We’ve known these dear people for at least fifteen years now.  But in the course of a meandering conversation, Mrs. B mentioned knowing of our family from way back—all the way back to our first year here.  

This surprised me because we lived in different neighborhoods in 1996. Of course, we were the only American family living in Nikšić at the time, and despite our best efforts to ‘blend in’, we stood out as foreigners just by the way we walked and the way we dressed.  And so it  was—she particularly remembered JJ, our toddler son, and his multicolored coat.   

This is not the exact coat, but it was bright and color-blocked similarly to this one.  Josiah received it as a gift from Grandma a few months before we moved here.  In true Grandma-style, she had economically bought one a size or two larger so he would have room to grow with it.  So, when he did wear it at first, we rolled up the sleeves a bit and the coat hem hit below his knees.   

JJ made quite the dashing figure when we were out and about in cold weather! Those were the days of gray drabness in Nikšić; no wonder Mrs. B remembered it/him/us!  When she mentioned that coat, I couldn’t help but remember the way I saw it on the day we heard The Words No Parent Wants To Hear. 

Before we moved to Montenegro, we had people giving us all kinds of advice.  One believer who lived in Podgorica told us to avoid moving to Nikšić altogether as he deemed it “The Wild West” of Montenegro and rather lawless.  We were warned not to find ourselves alone with others so we wouldn’t be robbed.  We were told to watch out for the gypsies who steal children —especially those with blue eyes and lighter hair.  

Undaunted by the warnings** (because tens of thousands of people safely lived here) but mindful of them nonetheless, we moved to Nikšić in March of 1996. I’ve already detailed those first few months in previous snapshots.  As the weeks and months passed, we developed family routines & rhythms of life: homeschool, shopping & cooking (this always took a lot of time!), music school for our older girls, language lessons for me, university teaching for Stan, getting household help & babysitter (our 19 yo neighbor, Ivana, who was studying to be a preschool teacher and knew a bit of English).  

Even though we settled in fairly quickly, we were still actively seeking various furniture and kitchen items for more than a year due to sanctions.  (I had just one pot and one pan for more than two years before finding cooking pans worth buying.)   One Saturday we arranged to have Ivana come babysit the kids while we went shopping.  I don’t remember the exact day or even what we were looking for, but I do remember we came home empty-handed and a little discouraged.  But that was the least of our worries.

For when we opened the door at home, we were met with words no parent wants to hear: “Mom, Dad!  Josiah is missing!!!”   At first, we didn’t even understand what that meant. How could four people lose a kid in a small house?  Was ‘missing’ a synonym for hide n’ seek?  But no, it seems that somehow during our time away, they realized that JJ was nowhere to be found.

Knowing how 2 year olds can hide themselves, and knowing that this two year old was a napper, we began a thorough search under all the beds, in all the closets, behind the couches, checking the bathtub, even going outside to the boiler room where the furnace was located.  But no JJ.  And now it became apparent that Josiah—our cheerful, blue-eyed, sandy hair toddler (age 2 1/2)  who loved everybody—was really missing.  Just….gone.  Vanished.  And I couldn’t help but wonder if he had been snatched.

All during our search, I had been asking the children questions:  Where did you last see him?  When did you notice he was gone?  Did anybody come by?  Nothing helpful in their replies.   But after realizing that Josiah truly was Just Not There, it (finally!) occurred to me  (Thank you, Lord!) to ask *what* they had been playing.  Their answer:  We were playing store.

Ohhhh. Light-Bulb Moment. The line between pretend store and real store is rather hazy in the mind of a toddler.  

Stan and I grabbed our coats and dashed out the door.  In those days, supermarkets didn’t exist here in Nikšić—I bought sundries at one little store, bread and eggs at a kiosk, meat at the butcher, fruits and veggies at the greengrocers.  From our house, I could walk down our little unpaved dead-end road to a major walking street and then hit up my stores in order: sundries, bread, fruits & veggies, circling around and coming back down our street from the other side.

We dashed into the first store, asking if anybody had seen our son. Blank faces and shakes of the head told us everything.  Over to the bread kiosk.  It was closed (no bread available after 1:30pm in those days!).  Down to the greengrocers. No, no one had spotted our little boy. 

With sinking hearts, we kept going down the street to circle around when I remembered there was one more store I only occasionally popped into—the chances seemed so small when no one else had seen him—but up we trekked the three steps to ask.

“Zdravo! (Hello!)”  the store clerk greeted us with a (knowing?) smile.  We asked our question and were stunned when she replied that he had, in fact, been there.  And not long ago! We asked what happened, where he might be.  She said Josiah had clambered up the steps and just stood there, looking sweetly at her.  So, after a bit, not knowing English and not knowing what else to do (since his parents were obviously not around), she offered him a lollipop.  JJ reached up, took it, and left.

With a quick “Hvala! (Thanks!)” over our shoulders, out we ran, around the corner, and back to our road from the other side.  And what did we see, a few hundred feet ahead in the middle of the street?  Our little fellow wearing his distinctive coat-of-many-colors, happily licking his lollipop, headed home, shopping trip accomplished.   

With full hearts, we rushed to pick up our little guy, grateful he was safe, grateful for kind shopkeepers, grateful for guardian angels, grateful to God. Our son who was missing was found!

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**Just to clarify, while the warnings were well-intended, none came to pass, and Nikšić is a safe city to live and walk in. Soli Deo Gloria!